B'eirtrand  Smith 
Apres  <>f   Books 

e  Av«. 

- 


.» 

V-1" 


*  <r 


*•" 


- 


V     : 


DRAWING  A  HOWIE  KXIFK  FROM  HIS  UELT    HE   PLVNGHD   IT 
INTO  HIS  SIDE. 


ERNEST   GREY; 


OB, 


THE  SINS  OF  SOCIETY 


tore  rf  Icfo  fork  life. 


BY    MARIA    MAXWELL. 


WITH  SIX  FINE  ILLUSTRATIONS,  BY  M'LENAN. 


NEW    YORK: 
PUBLISHED    BY    T.    W.    STRONG, 

98    NASSAU    STREET. 
1855. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1855, 

BY    THOMAS    W.    STRONG, 

Ii.  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  of  the  Unileil  Slates,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


VINCENT  L.  DILL.  Stereotype!-,  Al)KK.  Printer, 

1S8  Fullon  Street,  New  York.  213  it  215  Centre  Street. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER.  PACK. 

INTRODUCTION,  -  7 

I. — Home  of  Ernest  Grey — Trials  and  Sufferings,  9 

II. — Lizzy  Roberts,  the  shirt  sewer,        -  .  16 

III. — An   adventure  in   Broadway — Richard   Kane,  the 

mechanic — The  shirt  Store,       -  28 

IV. — The  merchant's  family — Father  and  son,  31 

V. — Robert  Clements  financial  scheme — The  fifty  dollar 
bill, 

VI. — Ernest  Grey  at  home — Kane's  umbrella,     - 

VII. — Pay-day  in  the  shirt  store — How  they  do  business 

in  Mr.  Sharpe's — Lizzy  Roberts'  boarder,  51 

VIII. — The    stolen    bill — Physic   and    Literature — Prison 

discipline,  -  .  -         60 

IX. — Arrest  of  Ernest  Grey — The  mother  and  child,  78 

X. — Ernest  Grey  in  prison — A  world  within  the  world 

— An  execution,       -  86 

XI. — Disappointments — Ought  to  be  content,      -  -         97 

XII. — Acquittal  of  Ernest  Grey — Interview  with  Lizzy 

Roberts — Search  for  liis  wife  and  child,  -       108 

XIII. — The   washerwoman — Friend  in    need — Hopes   and 

fears,      -  116 

XIV. — More  trials  and  troubles — The  separation,         -  120 

XV. — The  frozen  steps — An  accident — The  child's  resolve,  125 

XVI. — Grey's   return  to  his  home — Meeting  of  husband 

and  wife — The  mendicant,        -  -       131 

XVII. — The  Judge  and  the  accused — Ernest  Grey  in  the 

Fifth  Avenue — Stop  thief! — The  tombs,  -       140 

XVIII. — Exciting  news  in  Short's  alley — Death  of  Mrs.  Grey,     151 


2212469 


IV  COXTEXTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XIX. — The  sewing  girls  in  Mr.  Clements — Mr.  Hamilton 

and  the  apple — The  cousins — Which  is  it  ?  159 

XX. — Mrs.  Clements'  ball-The  proposal-Malice  of  friends,     169 

XXI. — An  unexpected  meeting — The  Knight  of  the  Um- 
brella— Sorrow  and  exposure,  -       181 

XXIL — Another  new  medicine — Chit  chat — Re-appear- 
ance of  the  apple — A  declaration,  -  190 

XXIII. — The  confession — Vindication  of  Ernest  Grey,    -         206 

XXIV. — Ernest  Grey  in  the  dock — What  he  says  for  him 
self — The  Judge  and  Mr.  Clements — The  repa- 
ration, -  -  214 

XXV. — Steve's  visit  to  the  prison — The  father's  grief,  223 

XXVI. — Ernest  Grey  in  Sing  Sing — The  brutal  keeper — 
Cruel  treatment  of  Frank  Hill — The  Shower 
bath,  230 

XXVIL — The  drunken   official — The  cat   o'nine  tails — Xo. 

475 — Shooting  a  prisoner — The  yoke.  237 

XXVIII. — The  cousin's  stratagem — The  adopted  child — The 

secret,  245 

XXIX. — An  evening  at  Lizzy  Roberts — The  bright  fire 
and  its  reward — Poverty  as  a  moral  agent — 
Going  to  be  married,  -  258 

XXX. — News  from  the  outside  world — A  suicide  in  Sing 
Sing — Prison  poetry — Who  wrote  it  ? — Murder 
of  Frank  Hill,  -  276 

XXXI. — The  release  from  Sing  Sing — Dick  the  burglar — 
The  dream — Detection  of  the  burglars — Grey 
is  fatally  wounded,  -  -  284 

XXXII. — The    burning   building — Rescue   of    Agatha   and 

Lizzy  Roberts — Richard  Kane,  the  fireman,  292 

XXXIIL— Richard  Kane's  love— The  will  and  the  way— The 

unset  tea-table — The  discovery,      -  300 

XXXIV. — Death  of  Ernest  Grey — The  sea-side  walk — The 
visit  to  Europe — Scene  in  the  summer  house — 
Mrs.  Hamilton,  -  314 

XXXV.— Conclusion.      -----  329 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  objects  which  the  authoress  of  the  following  story 
had  in  view,  will  become  so  apparent  on  the  most  cursory 
perusal  of  it,  that  it  would  seem  entirely  unnecessary  to 
preface  it  by  a  word  of  explanation  ;  but,  as  there  are 
many  incidents  related  in  it  connected  with  prison  disci- 
pline, which  may  seem  to  the  uninitiated  too  highly  colored, 
she  takes  the  present  opportunity  of  removing  any  false 
impressions  they  may  have  formed  with  regard  to  the 
system. 

The  consideration  which  is  given  to  this  subject  by 
the  public  is  very  slight,  and  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant that  could  engage  their  attention.  The  man  who 
has  once  been  incarcerated  in  a  prison  is  regarded  as  an 
outcast,  and  is  shunned  by  all  classes  as  a  moral  leper, 
whose  touch  is  infectious  ;  while  those  who  are  successful 


V]'  INTRODUCTION. 

in  crime,  are  regarded  merely  as  "  smart  men,1'  and  are 
not  unfrequently  praised  for  their  shrewdness.  While  such 
is  the  state  of  public  feeling  towards  the  criminal,  while 
he  finds  society  arrayed  against  him,  while  suspicion  haunts 
him  in  all  his  movements,  it  is  futile  to  expect  reform.  He 
regards  society  as  his  implacable  enemy,  and  he  is  forced 
in  self-defense  as  well  as  by  the  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
to  make  war  against  it. 

But  this  is  not  all  against  which  he  has  to  contend. 
The  system  of  discipline  pursued  in  the  majority,  if  not  in 
all  the  prisons  of  the  State,  is  perhaps  the  worst  that 
could  be  devised  for  his  reformation.  In  fact,  the  idea  of 
reformation  never  enters  into  the  consideration  of  those 
who  are  entrusted  with  their  management,  as  the  history 
of  the  Auburn,  Sing-Sing,  and  other  prisons  abundantly 
testify.  The  keepers  do  not  appear  to  be  chosen  with  any 
reference  to  their  capability  for  the  performance  of  their 
duties,  and  are  sometimes  not  only  brutal  but  fiendish  in 
the  treatment  of  the  unfortunate  criminals  committed  to 
their  care.  In  the  illustration  of  this  particular  feature  of 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

prison  life,  the  authoress  assures  her  readers,  that  she  has 
scrupulously  kept  within  the  boundaries  of  fact.  It  is  suffi- 
cient to  know,  that  prisoners  have  been  subjected  to  the 
most  cruel  tortures  at  the  caprice  of  keepers,  that  they 
have  died  from  their  effects.  Frank  Hill  is  but  one 
instance  out  of  many,  which  might  be  adduced  in  proof 
of  this.  Some  beneficial  changes  have  been  made  it  is 
true  in  the  system  within  the  last  few  years,  but  much 
has  yet  to  be  done,  before  our  prisons  will  become  what 
they  should  be — institutions  for  the  reform,  as  well  as  for 
the  punishment  of  the  criminal.  For  these  reforms,  the 
public  are  mainly  indebted  to  the  philanthropic  exertions 
of  the  late  Isaac  Hopper,  the  Howard  of  America,  whose 
long  life  was  devoted  unceasingly  to  the  service  of  the 
fallen  and  the  outcast. 

The  critical  reader  may  detect  in  the  progress  of 
the  story  a  few  anachronisms,  but  as  they  do  not  inter- 
fere with  its  aims  and  purpose,  and  are  necessary  to  give 
completeness  to  the  whole,  the  authoress  hopes  she  will 
be  pardoned  therefor. 


ERNEST    GREY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOME    OF    ERNEST   GREY TRIALS    AND    SUFFERINGS. 

'TWAS  a  cold  drizzly  morning  in  December  ;  the  wind  was1 
sighing  mournfully  in  the  confined  alley  ways  that  lead  to 
those  utter  abominations — rear  houses  ;  lights  were  twink- 
ling in  the  grocery  stores  ;  carts  were  lumbering  on,  and 
men  were  hastening  to  their  daily  toil,  some  smoking 
segars  and  others  whistling  favorite  airs.  The  morning 
was  worse  than  cold,  or  wet — it  was  bleak  and  dreary,  and 
the  fitful  wailing  gusts  were  so  depressing  that  a  thorough- 
going hurricane  would  have  been  more  welcome. 

Up  an  alley-way  that  led  to  one  of  the  most  dilapidated, 
tumble-down  rear  houses  in  Xew  York,  on  such  a  morning 
a  man  was  passing,  carrying  in  one  hand  a  pitcher  of  milk, 
and  in  the  other  a  basket  containing  a  scanty  supply  of 
bread.  He  wns  neither  smoking  nor  whistling,  but  from 


10  HOME    OP   ERNEST   GREY. 

time  to  time,  a  sound  issued  from  his  broad  chest,  strangely 
in  unison  with  the  wind — it  might  have  been  a  sigh,  or  it 
might  have  been  a  suppressed  groan.  He  entered  the  ever 
open  door  of  tire  building,  groped  his  way  up  the  moulder- 
ing stairs  and  passed  into  one  of  the  back  rooms.  It  was 
almost  empty  ;  a  miserable  looking  bed  occupied  one  cor- 
ner ;  and  a  table  and  a  couple  of  broken  chairs  were 
placed  near  a  few  dying  embers  in  the  open  fire-place, 
which  a  sickly  looking  woman  hastily  replenished,  as  she 
heard  the  ascending  footstep. 

"You  got  it,  Ernest,"  she  said,  taking  from  him  the 
bread  and  milk. 

"  Yes,  Jane  ;  but  he  cursed  and  swore  that  he  wouldn't 
give  me  another  cents'  worth  till  I  paid  him  all.  I  can 
hardly  blame  him,  for  we  owe  him  a  good  many  dollars." 

We  never  owed  him  sixpence  until  you  took  sick,  but 
paid  him  regularly  every  Saturday, — and  didn't  I  sell  our 
little  stock  of  furniture  and  pay  while  it  lasted  ;  and  didn't 
we  as  soon  as  you  could  walk,  move  to  this  wretched  hole 
that  we  might  be  sooner  enabled  to  meet  his  demands." 

"  He  says  if  we  had  principle  we  would  manage  to  pay 
him  some  way  or  other,  and  not  be  making  excuses  all  the 
time." 

"  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear  ! "  she  said  piteously,  "  and  what 
did  you  say." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said  Jane,  but  I  felt  so  mean  tak- 


1  I 
i 

ing  these  things  from  him,  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you 
a  ml  the  boy — but  no  matter.  Get  breakfast  I  must  hurry 
to  my  work." 

The  lamp  which  had  been  extinguished  through  a  feeling 
of  rigid  economy  was  now  relighted  and  they  sat  down 
to  breakfast. 

"  I  promised  him  four  dollars  to-night,"  said  the  man 
gloomily,  "  and  when  another  dollar  goes  for  rent,  it  won't 
leave  much  out  of  six.  And  what  will  Steve  do  in  the 
meantime  for  clothes — the  child  was  shivering  with  cold 
\vsterday,  and  to-day  will  be  worse." 

"  I  have  an  old  cloak  left,  Ernest,  that  will  make 
him  a  warm  dress,  and  I  was  thinking  of  breaking  it  up 
this  good  while.  I'll  set  about  it  to-day." 

"  You'll  do  no  such  thing,"  he  replied  quickly  ;  "  Steve 
can  be  kept  in  the  house  and  if  it  is  extra  cold  keep  him 
in  bed ;  but  you  must  be  out  sometimes.  It  must  not  be 
done.  You  promise  me  Jane  ?" 

"  I  can't,  Ernest  ; — it  is  done  already.  You  needn't 
Kay  a  word,"  she  added,  hastily,  as  he  was  about  to  speak. 
"  Do  you  think  I'd  wear  it  and  the  poor  child  crying  with 
cold  ;  and  if  I  did,  it  wonld'nt  do  me  any  good.  No 
indeed  ! " 

"  What  are  you  to  do  ?  " 

"Do  ?"  she  repeated  with  assumed  cheerfulness  ;  "what 
every  body  else  does — do  as  well  as  I  can." 


12  TRIALS    AND    SUFFERINGS. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Jane,  the  world  is  not  all  right ; 
there's  a  screw  loose  somewhere,"  said  the  man  after  a 
long  pause. 

"  Maybe  so,  but  we  haven't  got  to  fix  it." 

"  That's  it  Jane — -just  what  everybody  says.  '  There's 
something  wrong/  says  one,  and  '  there's  something  wrong ' 
says  another,  '  but  it's  nothing  to  me.'  What's  every- 
body's business  is  nobody's  business  ;  what  everybody 
ought  to  do,  nobody  is  willing  to  do,  and  so  the  world  is 
let  to  run  to  the  devil.  Every  man  has  a  world  of  his 
own  to  work  in,  and  if  every  man  did  what  he  could  there, 
there'd  be  nothing  left  undone.  Isn't  it  enough  to  drive 
one  distracted  to  see  in  what  luxury  some  people  live  with- 
out doing  anything  for  it  ;  and  if  I  was  to  work  the  flesh 
off  my  bones  I  couldn't  more  than  keep  body  and  soul 
together." 

"  Dear  Ernest  !  what  put  such  thoughts  into  your 
head  ?  It  frightens  me  to  hear  you  talking  in  that  way." 

"Then  I  had  better  go  at  once,  or  I'll  frighten  you 
out  of  your  senses,  for  I  feel  bad  to  day, — that's  a  fact. 
To  be  told  that  I  had  no  principle  when  I  would  almost 
sell  myself  to  pay  him !  I  have  more  principle  than  him, 
or  twenty  like  him,  but  who'd  believe  it  ?  for  he  can  pay 
what  he  owes,  and  I  can  not  :  So  of  course  he's  more 
honest." 

"  But  money  is  not  virtue." 


ERNEST   GREY.  13 

"  Isn't  it  ?  indeed  !  Oh  !  Jane,  Jane, — what  a  fool  you 
are.  Doesn't  money  stand  for  charity,  liberality,  gener- 
osity, honesty  ?  and  doesn't  poverty  stand  for — every  crime 
under  heaven.  Yesterday,"  he  added  in  a  louder  voice 
and  more  excited  manner,  "  I  placed  a  bale  of  broad  cloth 
where  one  of  the  clerks  told  me  it  was  to  go.  Sometime 
after  he  passed  and  ordered  it  to  be  removed,  cursing 
my  stupidity  for  leaving  it  there.  I  told  him  it  was  left 
there  by  his  own  orders.  But  what's  the  use  of  worrying 
you." 

"  Oh,  go  on." 

•'  He  denied  it  insultingly.  Every  drop  of  blood  in  my 
body  flew  to  my  face  ;  but  what  could  I  do  ?  I  thought 
of  yon  and  Steve — I  thought  of  this  miserable  room  made 
still  more  miserable — I  thought  of  the  difficulty  of  getting 
work  at  this  season,  and  I  was  silent.  Well — guess  how 
it  ended,  Jane.  Through  the  day  I  overheard  him  say  to 
Mr.  Jones  the  principal  business  man,  directing  his  atten- 
tion to  me  and  laughing  heartily  ; — '  Oh  he's  a  poor,  mean- 
spirited  creature.'  '  Mean-spirited  and  unprincipled '  both 
stand  for  poor,  you  see." 

"  Say,  father  1 "  said  a  childish  voice  from  the  bed," 
"  wasn't  it  cold  last  night  ?  " 

"  Psha  !  Steve.  You  must  be  more  of  a  man,  and  not 
be  complaining  of  the  cold." 

"  But  that  won't  make  it  warm,  father,  will  it?" 


14  TRIALS   AND  SUFFERINGS. 

"  Stay  in  bed,  and  you'll  be  warm,"  said  the  mother. 
"  Stay  until  I  finish  your  new  dress." 

"Oh  mother;"  said  the  boy,  "I'd  rather  have  a  new 
ball.  Willy  Short's  got  a  beautiful  ball.  Why  wouldn't 
you  buy  one  for  me  father  ?  Aint  you  able  to  buy  it  ? 
Willy  Short  says  you  have'nt  money  enough  ;  but  I  told 
him  you  had  as  much  money  as  his  father.  Haven't  you, 
father— eh  ?  Don't  forget  the  ball,  father  ;  I'd  rather 
have  the  ball,"  shouted  Steve,  rising  and  running  to  the 
entry  undressed  as  he  was,  quite  indifferent  to  the  cold, 
and  continuing  the  same  cuckoo  song  long  after  his  father 
was  out  of  hearing. 

"  Steve,"  said  his  mother,  gently,"  you  mustn't  ask  your 
father  to  buy  you  things,  nor  tell  him  what  Willy  Short 
says." 

"  Why,  mother, — wouldn't  he  buy  me  anything  ?  " 

"  Yes,  darling,  he  would  ;  but  you  know  your  father 
hasn't  money." 

"  He  has  as  much  money  as  Willy  Short's  father,"  said 
the  child,  positively. 

"  You  must  never  say  that  Steve." 

"  And  I  told  Willy  that  father  bought  me  a  new  dress, 
— so  I  did — as  good  as  his,"  said  Steve,  triumphantly  ; — 
"  and  you  know  he  did,  mother,  I  see'd  it  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  the  poor  woman  in  great  perplexity  ; 


ERNEST   GREY.  15 

"  and   we   in    arrears    for   rent — what   will   they   think  ? 
Why,  child,  that  aint  a  new  dress." 

"Ain't  it,"  said  Steve,  "considerably  crest-fallen; — 
"  What  is  it  then  ?  Oh  here's  Lizzy."  And  with  one 
spring,  Steve  was  in  the  arms  of  the  new  comer,  all  his 
troubles  forgotten. 




*IN 


CHAPTER  II. 


LIZZY   ROBERTS,    THE    SHIRT    SEWER. 

SHE  was  a  pale,  delicate  looking  girl  about  nineteen  or 
twenty.  Her  features  were  rather  prepossessing  than 
beautiful,  but  they  had  a  haggard,  worn  expression  which 
told  too  plainly  of  sleepless  nights  and  unremitting  toil. 
Lizzy  Roberts  was  a  shirt  maker  ;  she  worked  for  a 
fashionable  establishment  that  couldn't  brook  disappoint- 
ment, and  therefore  was  she  obliged  to  set  up  night  after 
night  at  her  cheerless,  monotonous  employment.  Long 
after  the  last  sounds  of  busy  life  had  died  away,  while 
thousands  of  the  gay,  the  fashionable  and  the  dissipated 
squandered  their  time  and  their  money  in  the  pursuit  of 
foolish  or  criminal  enjoyments,  she  sat  and  sewed,  in  the 
dreary  miserable  room  which  she  called  her  home,  the 
stillness  only  broken  by  the  heavy  breathing  of  an  invalid 
mother  in  the  uneasy  sleep  of  pain.  Her  employer  was 
inexorable  in  having  the  work  turned  in  at  the  stated 
time,  and  a  failure  in  punctuality  was  a  prelude  to  dis- 
missal. No  excuse  was  listened  to — grief  or  sickness — 


ERNEST   GREY.  17 

no  matter — "  business  must  be  attended  to — if  you  can't 
do  it  another  can."  Better  that  a  hundred  girls  should 
lose  health,  and  strength  and  beauty,  than  disappoint  one 
valuable  customer. 

Lizzy  Roberts  had  known  better  days.  She  was  the 
only  child  of  a  fond,  indulgent  father,  who  had  done  his 
utmost  to  spoil  her  ;  but  Lizzy  was  one  of  those  natures 
which  it  was  impossible  to  spoil.  She  had  known  grief  and 
happiness,  but  her  heart  was  still  the  same  ; — like  a  flower 
she  flourished  iu  rain  and  sunshine,  for  while  one  expanded 
the  blossom,  the  other  strengthened  the  root.  Feelings 
and  principles  developed  and  cultivated,  no  matter  how 
carefully,  will  not  earn  a  livelihood,  though  talents  may, 
and  poor  Lizzy  was  sadly  deficient  in  talent :  therefore, 
when  her  father  died,  she  did  the  only  thing  she  could, 
made  her  needle  provide  for  her  mother  and  herself.  That 
it  was  a  poor  provider,  who  needs  to  be  told  ?  Still  her 
loving,  contented  nature  made  everything  lighter  and  easier 
to  bear,  and  when  her  grief  for  her  father's  death  subsided 
into  a  gentle  sorrow,  Lizzy  felt  absolutely  happy  in  working 
for  her  remaining  parent.  Hour  after  hour  she  worked, — 
stitch  followed  stitch, — seam  succeeded  seam, — neither  eye 
nor  thought  wandering  from  the  business  on  hand  ;  and  as 
the  pile  of  linen  ascended,  layer  upon  layer,  her  spirits  rose, 
and  the  completion  of  her  task  was  the  signal  for  an  out- 
burst of  gladness.  This  was  at  her  first  setting-out,  but 


18  THE    SHIRT   SEWER. 

the  truth  of  that  old  axiom,  "  the  longer  the  way,  the 
wearier,"  was  never  more  forcibly  realized  than  in  her  case. 
Month  after  mouth  Lizzy  hemmed  and  stitched  with  undi- 
minished  industry,  but  her  color  gradually  faded,  her  eyes 
lost  their  brightness,  and  her  laugh  grew  less  spontaneous. 
What  a  brave  loving  heart  a  woman  must  have  to  work  on 
and  on  at  the  ceaseless,  sedentary,  ill-paid  toil  society  allots 
her,  and  not  become  listless  and  depressed, — indifferent  to 
the  past,  heedless  to  the  future,  and  laboring  only  for  the 
all-absorbing  present.  Let  those  who  think  otherwise,  try 
it.  True,  labor  is  excellent,  is  honorable,  is  necessary,  but 
it  must  have  limits — human  beings  have  other  and  higher 
faculties  to  cultivate,  and  there  must  be  something  astray 
when  woman,  socially  restricted  and  naturally  unfitted  for 
some  pursuits,  is  forced  to  labor  sixteen  or  eighteen  hours 
out  of  the  twenty-four  to  obtain  a  mere  subsistence,  soul 
and  mind  stinted  in  their  growth,  while  man,  by  a  few 
hours'  labor,  can  support  in  comfort  not  only  himself, 
but  his  family  ;  and  this  because  woman  is  weak  on  all 
points  save  one — unhappily  for  herself — she  is  strong  in 
endurance. 

Had  it  not  been  for  her  mother,  Lizzy  would  have  pre- 
ferred taking  charge  of  children,  for  which  her  gentleness 
of  disposition  eminently  fitted  her  ;  but  she  could  not  be 
left  alone,  so  she  continued  sewing,  and  gradually  the  slow 
poison  took  effect.  The  glaring  white  of  the  linen  affected 


ERNEST    GREY.  19 

;KT  eyes,  and  in  order  to  accomplish  her  tusk,  which  every 
hiy  became  more  difficult,  she  was  obliged  to  sit  up  later. 
l>ut  the  spirit  was  willing,  though  the  flesh  was  weak,  and 
Lizzy  Roberts  was  as  assiduous,  if  not  as  successful,  as 
before.  Two  years  had  elapsed  since  her  father's  death, 
and  during  that  time  the  most  she  had  earned  was  three 
dollars  a  week,  and  that  only  when  the  work  was  good.  She 
struggled  long  to  keep  up  a  decent  appearance,  but  Poverty 
is  an  experienced  wrestler,  and  what  could  two  friendless 
women  do  but  succumb. 

At  the  time  our  story  commences,  two  years  after  the 
father's  death,  the  mother  and  daughter  were  located  in  the 
back  attic-room  of  the  rear  house  we  have  described  in  the 
preceding  chapter. 

"  Well,  Lizzy,  how  is  your  mother  this  morning  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Grey. 

"  No  better.  She  got  no  rest  last  night,  the  cold  was 
so  gi'eat." 

"  Nor  you  either,  my  poor  girl,  I'm  afraid,"  said  her 
compassionate  listener. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing;  I  had  got  to  stay  up  to  finish 
some  shirt  collars,  and  could  not  have  gone  to  sleep  if  I 
had  wished  it  ever  so,  for  Mr.  Sharpe  wants  them  this 
morning,  early.  I  must  be  down  before  eight  o'clock." 

"  Before  eight !  Why,  Ellen  Williams  don't  go  so 
early.  I  went  to  Mrs.  Short's  yesterday  after  my  Steve, 


20  THE    SHIRT   SEWEE. 

and  she  was  going  home  with  work  then,  and  that  was 
about  twelve." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Lizzy,  quietly  ;  "  but  Ellen  is  dif- 
ferent from  me.  The  shop  girls  have  a  kind  of  a  liking  for 
her,  she's  so  smart  and  lively,  and  dresses  so  nice.  But 
Mr.  Sharpe,  himself,  told  me  that  it  didn't  look  respectable 
to  see  me  coming  in  when  the  shop  was  crowded  with  cus- 
tomers, and  that  he  couldn't  give  me  work  if  I  didn't  turn 
it  hi  early  in  the  morning." 

"  Well !"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  indignantly. 

"  Well,  what  could  I  do  ?"  and  Lizzy  smiled  sadly  ;  "  of 
course  I  did  as  I  was  bid  ;  and  I  told  mother  that  I'd  go 
in  the  morning  always  in  future — that  it  was  better,  as  I 
wouldn't  be  meeting  so  many.  Now  it's  time  to  start." 

"It's  an  unfeeling  thing  to  ask  you  to  go  so  early  in  the 
morning, — it's  always  colder  then." 

"Well,  but  I  like  it  better.  I  want  to  be  there  and 
home  again  before  the  other  giris  give  in  their  work. 
They  don't  like  to  come  out  of  the  store  with  me — no 
wonder,  I'm  so  shabby." 

"  Pshaw  !  Lizzy.     Why  do  you  say  no  wonder  ?" 

"  Because,  it  is  no  wonder,  dear  Mrs.  Grey  ;  I'm  so 
different,  you  know." 

"  So  you  are — that's  a  fact,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  decidedly, 
"  and  you  don't  mind  them,  Lizzy — eh  ?  not  much." 

"  I  feel  bad  this  morning  about  going,  because  the  young 


ERNEST   OREY.  21 

girls  iii  the  store  were  so — but  I  can't  afford  to  take  offence, 
and  I  pretended  not  to  hear  them." 

"What  did  they  say  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  they  didn't  say  anything  to  me,  but  they  spoke 
loud  enough  for  me  to  hear  them.  Just  as  I  was  passing 
out,  they  began  to  giggle  and  whisper.  '  What  a  figure 
for  Broadway,'  says  one.  '  Quite  a  credit  to  the  store,' 
says  another  ;  and  they  laughed  aloud.  Then  they  got  too 
angry  to  laugh,  and  said  it  was  a  shame.  They  looked  so 
young  and  so  pretty,  that  I  felt  quite  sorry  to  hear 
them  talk  so.  But  now  that  I've  told  you,  I  don't  feel 
so  bad." 

Steve  had  listened  intently  to  the  whole  conversation, 
evidently  trying  his  best  to  comprehend  it,  and  now  broke 
in,  his  childish  face  red  and  angry. 

"  I'd  lick  them  for  laughing.  I'd  lick  anybody  'that'd 
laugh  at  Lizzy." 

"  Oh,  Steve  !"  said  Lizzy,  reproachfully. 

"  Steve's  a  bold  boy,"  said  his  mother,  in  a  tone  that 
re-assured  the  child  at  once,  and  he  muttered  doggedly. 

"  I  would — yes,  I  would  so,"  and  turned  his  back  upon 
his  protege. 

"  Steve  wont  speak  to  you  any  more,  Liz,"  said  the 
mother. 

Steve  didn't  seem  to  relish  this  observation,  but  he  was 
too  sulky  to  contradict  it. 


22  THE    SHIRT   SEWER. 

"Wont  you  give  me  a  kiss  before  I  go,  Steve?"  said 
Lizzy,  coaxingly  ;  "  coine,  that's  a  good  boy — make  up 
and  be  friends." 

Steve  still  silent  and  sulky. 

"  Never  mind,  Liz — do  you  go,  and  you  needn't  call  here 
any  more,  for  Steve  don't  like  you,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Yes  I  do  ;"  he  exclaimed,  fairly  conquered,  and  blub- 
bering outright ;  "  and  I'll  kiss  her  too."  And  Steve  was 
as  good  as  his  word,  evidently  thinking  that  he  had  estab- 
lished an  everlasting  claim  on  her  gratitude. 

"  Now  wont  you  come  back  ?     Whisper,  Liz  !" 

She  stooped,  and  putting  his  mouth  to  her  ear,  he  said 
in  a  tone  of  determined  willfulness — "  I  would  lick  'em." 

Lizzy  hurried  off,  trying  to  hide  a  smile  ;  and  Mrs.  Grey 
began  to  busy  herself  about  the  room.  It  did  not  tsfke 
much  time  to  arrange  ;  and  then  the  little  dress  was  cut 
out  and  basted,  and  tried  on,  the  poor  mother  happy  in  the 
thought  that  her  boy  would  be  warm  and  comfortable,  and 
Steve  exulting  in  his  own  little  heart  that  he  could  now 
take  down  Willy  Short. 


AN    ADVENTURE    IN    BROADWAY KICHARD    KANE,  THE  MB- 

CHANIC THE    SHIRT    STORE. 

IT  was  half-past  seven  when  Lizzy  Roberts  turned  into 
Broadway,  and  fearful  of  being  late,  she  pressed  forward 
rapidly.  The  shops  were  not  all  open,  and  the  street  had 
a  deserted  look,  for  it  was  that  kind  of  a  morning  when 
few  walk  from  choice.  The  stages  were  crowded,  drivers 
were  encased  in  water-proof  somethings — only  the  initiated 
can  tell  what.  The  red-tipped  segars  looked  less  disagree- 
able than  usual,  awnings  were  in  demand,  and  umbrellas  at 
a  premium. 

The  drizzling  mist  of  the  early  morning  changed  to 
heavy  rain,  and  Lizzy's  apology  for  an  umbrella — and  a 
poor  apology  it  certainly  was— didn't  prevent  her  from 
being  thoroughly  drenched.  Enough  rain  had  fallen  to 
make  the  superabundant  dust  on  the  crossings  glutinous  as 
bird-lime,  and  as  Lizzy,  her  timid  prudence  giving  way 
before  her  anxiety  to  be  in  time,  ventured  to  cross  in  the 
face  of  an  up-coming  stage,  she  wns  caught  as  in  a  trap, 


24  ADVENTURE    IN    BROADWAY. 

and  but  for  a  hearty  backward  pull,  must  have  been  run 
over. 

"  More  frightened  than  hurt,  I  guess."  The  voice  was 
pleasant  to  hear,  and  the  smiling,  intelligent  face  pleasant 
to  look  upon.  Lizzy  murmured  some  unintelligible  words 
of  thanks,  and  hurried  on,  her  dread  of  being  late  again  in 
the  ascendant. 

"  You  are  walking  too  quick,"  said  tne  young  man,  who 
had  followed  and  kept  pace  with  her.  "  You  are  not  all 
right  yet." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed." 

"  You  shake  as  if  you  had  the  ague.  Take  my  umbrella 
and  walk  slower." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Lizzy,  anxiously  ;  "  I'll  be  late — I  ought 
to  be  there  now." 

Her  companion  was  desirous  of  knowing  where  "there" 
meant,  but  his  natural  courtesy  would  not  allow  him  to 
ask. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  short  silence,  "  at  all  events 
you  must  take  my  umbrella,  for  your's  is  scarcely — "  he 
paused  for  fear  of  giving  pain — "large  enough  to  shelter 
you." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  "it  is  quite  large  enough,  but  it's 
old  and  worn — it  lets  in  the  wet." 

"  Exactly  so— that's  what  I  mean.  Well,  you  take  my 
umbrella,  and  give  me  yours.  That's  it." 


v\ 


- 

ERNEST  GREY.  25 


And  before  Lizzy  had  time  to  refuse,  the  umbrellas  were 
exchanged. 

"  Don't  be  frightened — it's  all  right,"  was  his  only  reply 
to  her  remonstrances.  "  Good  morning — keep  a  sharp  look 
out  for  the  crossings."  And  in  a  twinkling  he  was  down  a 
side  street,  chuckling  at  his  own  success. 

"  Capitally  managed.  Poor  thing — such  a  morning,  too, 
and  such  an  umbrella" — glancing  at  the  broken  ribs  and 
torn  cover — "  I'm  right  glad  she's  got  a  good  one.  Here 
goes,"  and  the  worn-out  parapluie  was  tossed  into  the 
middle  of  the  street. 

In  the  meantime,  Lizzy  arrived  at  the  store,  and  handed 
her  work  to  the  young  lady  in  attendance. 

"  What's  the  reason  it  aint  clean  ?"  was  her  first  obser- 
vation. "  And  this  stitching — do  you  call  it  neat  ?  My  ! 
how  uneven  it  is." 

"  I  could'nt  draw  a  thread,"  said  Lizzy. 

"  How  smart  we  are,"  said  the  young  lady  aside  to  ono 
of  her  companions,  in  a  contemptuous  tone.  "  Who  ever 
heard  of  drawing  threads  in  a  bias  ?  But  I  suppose  you 
could  keep  it  even  If  you  tried.  I  declare,  if  the  threads 
ain't  split !  Well !" 

This  crowning  piece  of  depravity  was  too  much,  and  in 
silence  she  handed  the  collars  round  to  be  examined. 

"Xothing  could  be  neater,  Leonore,"  said  a  fair- 
haired  young  girl  who  was  arranging  goods  at  the 


26  THE   SHIRT   STORE. 

other  counter.  "  If  I  could  stitch  as  neatly  I  would  be 
contented." 

"  Look  at  the  split  threads  and  the  button  holes." 

"  Pshaw  1"  was  the  only  reply  vouchsafed. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any  work  cut  out,"  said  Leonorc, 
talking  rather  to  herself  than  to  Lizzy,  "  and  I  haven't  got 
time  to  cut  any  now.  The  store  must  be  tidied  up  first  of 
all.  Couldn't  you  come  back  again— in  the  afternoon  ?" 

The  thought  of  her  mother  being  so  long  alone,  and  the 
fatiguing  walk,  roused  Lizzy,  and  she  answered  in  a  tone 
unusual  to  her — 

"  No,  indeed,  I  cannot ;  for  I  live  too  far  away." 

"  It  rains,  Leonore,"  said  the  young  girl  who  had  already 
praised  the  stitching. 

"  Well — can't  she  take  the  stage  ?"  was  the  careless 
reply. 

Lizzy's  pale  cheek  flushed,  but  she  was  silent. 

"  Or  if  you  can't  return,  I  suppose  you  must  play  lady 
to-day,  and  come  back  in  the  morning." 

Poor  Lizzy  !  This  was  worse  than  all ;  and  with  diffi- 
culty she  repressed  her  tears.  A  whole  day  lost !  How 
many  nights  would  it  take  to  make  up  for  that  ?  Xo  work 
for  a  whole  day  !  What  a  world  of  meaning  was  in  that 
one  sentence. 

"  I  can  cut  out  the  work  myself,"  she  ventured  to  sug- 
gest ;  "  or  I  can  wait  till  it's  cut  out  for  me." 


ERNEST  GREY.  27 

"  I'm  sure  a  day  can't  make  much  difference." 

Leonore  spoke  as  if  the  patience  of  an  angel  couldn't  be 
proof  against  the  annoyances  to  which  she  was  subject. 

"  It  makes  a  great  difference  to  me,"  was  the  touching 
rejoinder. 

"  Leonore,"  said  the  young  girl  at  the  opposite  counter, 
"  if  you  haven't  time,  I  have  got  everything  in  order  here 
—shall  I  ?" 

"  If  you  have  a  mind  to,"  said  Leonore,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

"  Oh  tell  us  all  about  the  ball  last  night,"  exclaimed 
three  or  four  of  the  shop  girls  in  chorus,  gathering  round 
Leonore  with  eager  interest.  "What  did  you  wear? 
Who  was  there  ?  Did  you  waltz  ?  Did  you  have  supper  ?" 

The  noisy  gaiety  ill-accorded  with  Lizzy's  state  of  mind, 
and  she  turned  to  the  other  counter  to  ask  about  the 
breadth  of  the  stitching,  the  size  of  the  button  holes,  and 
other  important  items  ;  but  ever  and  anon  a  sentence  in  a 
louder  key  reached  her,  and  what  an  odd  jumble  it  was — 
"  White  tarletane  ? — no  indeed — yes,  I  saw  him — so  pretty 
— pale  blue  silk,  looped  up  with  roses — what  a  fright  that 
woman  is — paid  every  attention  to  me. — flatters  so — crum- 
pled white  muslin,  nothing  else — her  homely  beau — pretty  ! 
not  she,  indeed — pearls  in  my  hair,"  &c.  &c. 

"  I  want  to  give  you  work  enough  to  last  for  two  days, 
for  I  think  it  will  storm  to-morrow." 


28  THE  SHIRT  STORE. 

"  If  I  have  it  finished  before  that  ?"  said  Lizzy,  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  No  matter — there's  no  hurry  ;  but  if  you  think  you 
could  do  more,  I'll  get  it  ready.  There, — I  think  that'll 
be  enough." 

"  I  think  so,  but  Mrs.  Grey  sews  very  neatly,"  she  said, 
hesitatingly. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Grey?" 

"  She  lives  in  the  same  house  with  me,  and  I  know  she 
will  be  glad  to  get  some  work — her  husband  has  been  ill 
quite  a  long  time.  If  I  could  get  it  for  her,  and  spare  her 
the  walk." 

"  But  Mr.  Sharpe,  I  think,  wouldn't  like  to  give  work  to 
a  stranger  without  a  deposit." 

Lizzy  knew  well  that  Mrs.  Grey  couldn't  give  a  deposit 
if  all  the  work  in  New  York  depended  upon  it,  and  she 
hesitated  to  reply. 

"  Couldn't  you  take  out  a  double  quantity  in  your  own 
name,"  said  the  young  girl,  lowering  her  voice — "and  give 
it  to  your  friend  ?  Many  of  the  girls  have  friends  to  help 
them,  and  if  Mr.  Sharpe  noticed  you  turning  in  more 
work  than  usual,  he'll  conclude  that  you've  got  some  rela- 
tion at  home.  If  it's  well  done,  and  ready  when  he  wants 
it,  he  don't  care  much  about  anything  else." 

And  doubling  the  linen,  she  re-commenced  cutting  vigo- 
rously. 


ERNEST  GREY.  29 

"There — I've  given  you  two  dozen  collars  for  Mrs. 
Grey.  Your  own  is  in  this  parcel.  You  are  sure  she 
will  do  them  good." 

"  Yes," — Lizzy  was  very  sure. 

"  I'm  sorry  I've  had  to  detain  you  so  long  sitting  in  your 
wet  clothes." 

"  "Walking  will  soon  warm  me  "• — she  replied  cheerfully, 
though  her  teeth  chattered  with  the  cold  ;  and  thanking 
her  new  friend  with  an  eloquent  look,  for  her  tongue  did 
no  justice  to  her  feelings,  Lizzy  turned  homewards  con- 
gratulating herself  on  having  received  kindness  from  two 
strangers  in  the  course  of  one  morning. 

"  Dear  Liz  !  it  was  so  kind  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Grey, 
when  Lizzy  explained  to  her  about  the  collars — "  I've 
often  tried  to  get  work,  but  couldn't." 

"  I  thought  of  it  before,  but  was  only  waiting  for  a 
chance,  for  if  Mr.  Sharpe  was  in  a  bad  temper  he'd  re- 
fuse without  knowing  what  you  asked.  But  look  at  this  ! " 
she  added  holding  up  the  umbrella. 

"  Oh,  ain't  it  nice  ! "  exclaimed  Steve  in  an  ecstacy  of 
admiration,  pulling  with  a  will  at  the  brass  tipped  point 
to  subject  it  to  a  nearer  inspection. 

"  You  couldn't  guess  how  I  got  it  1 " 

"  You  didn't  buy  it— did  you  ? " 

"  Guess  again" — said  Lizzy,  laughing. 

"  Oh  of  course  you  got  it  from  that  young  girl  in  the 


30  THE  UMBRELLA. 

store,"  and  Mrs.  Grey's  tone  said  as  plain  as  tone  could 
say,  "  How  stupid  not  to  think  of  that  before." 

"  No,  indeed  !     Steve  give  it  to  your  mother." 

Steve  had  succeeded  in  bringing  the  handle  which  was 
a  special  object  of  interest  to  him,  en  a  level  with  his  eyes, 
and  after  delighting  his  sense  of  touch  by  its  smoothness 
was  wholly  absorbed  in  examining  a  small  oval  brass 
plate  set  in  the  side.  With  great  reluctance  he  gave  it 
up  in  obedience  to  a  more  peremptory  demand. 

"It's  a  real  good  one" — said  Mrs.  Grey;  "the  ribs 
are  whalebone.  Let  me  see  !  Why,  who  is  Richard 
Kane?" 

"  Richard  Kane  ! "  repeated  Lizzy  ;  "  why,  is  there  a 
name  on  it  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  there  it  is,  and  I  think  I  heard  Ernest  mention 
that  name  more  than  once.  Richard  Kane  ! — I'm  sure 
I  did.  But,  say — -I  don't  understand,  Liz — how  did  you 
come  by  it  ?  " 

Lizzy  told  her  all  the  details,  and  Mrs.  Grey  was  de- 
lighted with  Kane's  promptitude  and  subsequent  brusque 
kindness.  Both  agreed  that  it  would  be  better  not  to 
tell  Mrs.  Robert's  anything  about  the  matter,  lest  any 
future  unavoidable  delay  might  alarm  her. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  MERCHANT'S  FAMILY — FATHER  AND  SON. 

A  SHORT  time  after  the  events  related  in  our  last  chapter, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clements  and  their  daughter  Agatha,  were 
seated  round  the  breakfast  table  in  their  luxurious  parlor. 
Mr.  Clements  whose  name  has  been  already  mentioned 
was  engaged  in  an  extensive  mercantile  business.  He  was 
a  man  universally  respected  for  many  sterling  qualities,  but, 
from  a  certain  sternness  of  manner,  rather  unpopular 
among  his  employees  and  acquaintances.  He  was  a  good 
man — some  even  said  he  was  a  kind  one,  but  he  was 
never  known  to  pardon,  or  pass  over  the  slightest  deviation 
from  the  strict  line  of  duty  let  the  cause  be  what  it  might. 
In  fact  he  was  a  harsh,  just  man,  who  resolutely  repelled 
every  suggestion  alike  of  feeling  or  of  pity — who  measured 
every  man  by  his  own  standard  of  right  or  wrong  and 
judged  him  accordingly.  Principle  was  his  idol — feel- 
ing with  him  was  synonymous  with  weakness — "  Those 
who  sin  should  suffer "  was  his  creed  ;  and  he  was  a 
bigot  to  it. 


32  THE  MERCHANT'S  FAMILY. 

His  life  had  been  uniformly  happy  and  prosperous  ; 
his  wealth  increased  slowly  and  steadily  ;  but  the  influ- 
ences that  soften  one  man's  heart  petrify  another's,  as  the 
same  sun  that  melts  an  icicle  hardens  the  plastic  clay. 

Mrs.  Clements  character  may  be  summed  up  in  one 
sentence — she  was  a  hypochondriac — "a  steady,  sturdy, 
staunch  believer "  in  the  healing  virtues  of  all  quack  nos- 
trums ;  those  she  had  not  tried  she  felt  convinced  would 
cure  her,  and  those  she  had  tried  she  felt  equally  convinced 
would  cure  any  one  but  her.  One  son,  a  wild,  thoughtless, 
good-hearted  youth  of  seventeen,  and  one  daughter,  a  few 
years  older,  constituted  Mr.  Clements  family.  He  was 
tenderly  attached  to  both,  but  his  affection  for  Robert 
was  kept  alive  by  a  constant  fear  that  somehow  or  other 
he  would  get  into  difficulties  if  not  well  watched.  To  this 
task  Mr.  Clements  dedicated  himself  so  zealously  that  his 
object  soon  became  apparent,  and  Robert  having  no  appre- 
ciation or  relish  for  affection  so  displayed,  withdrew  him- 
self more  and  more  from  his  father.  This  increased  Mr. 
Clements  watchfulness  and  it  in  turn  increased  Robert's 
wilfulness. 

This  alienation  did  not  escape  his  daughter  Agatha — to 
her  it  was  a  cause  of  unaffected  sorrow.  To  Mrs.  Clements 
it  seemed  all  very  natural  that  Robert,  released  from  the 
counting-house,  should  seek  relaxation  among  companions 
of  his  own  age.  "  Robert,"  she  would  say,  "  is  becoming  a 


ERNEST  GREY.  33 

young  man,  and  young  men  will  be  young  men,"  was  her 
invariable  reply  to  Mr.  Clements  remarks  on  his  frequent 
absence  from  home. 

"Father — more  tea?"  said  Agatha,  interrogatively, 
holding  the  tea-pot  inclined  over  his  cup,  while  waiting  for 
an  answer. 

Mr.  Clements  did  not  hear  the  question — he  was,  or 
seemed  to  be,  deep  in  a  newspaper. 

"  Father  !"  she  repeated  in  a  louder  voice. 

Mr.  Clements  looked  up— Agatha  went  through  the 
pantomime  of  pouring  out  tea.  An  impatient  "  No  "  was 
his  answer.  Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Clements,  who  was 
reclining  in  an  easy  chair,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  fire,  he 
said  abruptly — 

"  Where's  Robert  ?  Maria." 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Clements  languidly, 
"perhaps  in  his  own  room,  or — somewhere — he  must  be 
somewhere." 

"  Did  you  see  him  yesterday  ?" 

"  Did  I,  Agatha  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  certainly  ;  don't  you  recollect  he  read 
some  ludicrous  poetry  to  you  ?" 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  Mrs.  Clements,  imploringly  ; 
"  my  head  aches  yet  when  I  think  of  it.  It  was  so  incon- 
siderate— I  had  almost  said,  cruel  of  Robert,  to  make  me 
laugh.  His  constitution  mav  defv  such  convulsive  efforts  ; 


34  THE  MERCHANT'S  FAMILY. 

but  mine" — a  pause  of  most  significant  meaning  followed 
this  reference  to  herself. 

"  A  medical  author  says,"  suggested  Mr.  Clements, 
"  that '  a  laugh  is  the  best  medicine.' " 

"  Pshaw  1  Mr.  Clements— medical  authority,  indeed  ! 
What  do  I  care  for  medical  authority." 

"Well,  mother,  a  poetical  one  says — 'so  much  laughter, 
so  much  life  enjoyed.' " 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  "  that  Robert, 
by  any  means,  direct  or  indirect,  contributes  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  one  parent.  I  did  not  give  him  credit  for  so 
much." 

"  But  it  is  very  good  policy,  dear  father,  to  give  people 
credit  for  goodness.  Men  and  women  are  frequently  good 
or  bad,  as  we  give  them  credit  for  being  so." 

"  Ha  !"  said  Mr.  Clements,  relapsing  into  silence,  and 
diving  once  more  into  the  newspaper. 

Mrs.  Clements  sat  like  one  who  had  no  interest  in  the 
conversation  ;  the  fingers  of  one  hand  rested  on  the  wrist 
of  the  other,  and  she  was  endeavoring  to  count  its  pulsa- 
tions. That  she  succeeded  to  her  own  satisfaction  in  find- 
ing it  quicker  or  slower  than  it  ought  to  have  been,  was 
evident  from  the  strangled  sigh  that  followed. 

*t 

"  A  medical  authority  !"  she  said,  bitterly  ;  "  I  would 
like  to  see  the  medical  man  that  could  understand  my 

disease." 


ERNEST  GREY.  35 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Mr.  Clements  ;  "  for  it  would  be 
harder  to  come  at  than  the  northwest  passage." 

"  Dr.  Xcverdy  said  my  lungs  were  affected,"  soliloquized 
Mrs.  Clements,  "  and  Dr.  Kantphale  said  my  heart ;  but  I 
know  very  well  that  both  are  astray.  Neither  heart  nor 
lungs  are  affected — of  that  Em  perfectly  satisfied." 

"  So  am  I — the  worst  material  wont  wear  out  without 
use,"  Mr.  Clements  thought,  but  did  not  say. 

"Talk  to  me  of  heart !"  she  continued,  "the  man  must 
have  been  an  idiot." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  from  yourself  that  your  heart's  all 
right,  Maria,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  rising  and  putting  on  his 
over-coat  and  gloves.  "  Tell  Robert  that  I  expect  to  see 
him  in  the  office  to-day."  And  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  Mr.  Clements  hastened  to  his  place  of  business. 

About  half  an  hour  afterwards  Robert  lounged  in,  look- 
ing as  blaze  as  he  could  after  a  night's  dissipation.  He 
merely  trifled  with  his  breakfast — sipped  his  coffee — cut 
his  bread  in  pieces  of  an  inch  square — balanced  his  spoon 
on  the  edge  of  his  cup,  and  committed  other  follies -which  a 
man  seriously  determined  to  breakfast  never  does.  In 
short,  he  neither  ate  with  the  grave  deliberation  of  a  person 
who  looks  upon  eating  as  an  important  business,  nor  yet 
with  the  haste  of  one  who  regards  it  as  a  necessary  preli- 
minary to  business. 

"What's  the  matter,  Robert?  what  arc  you  thinking 


36  THE  MERCHANT'S  FAMILY. 

of?"  said  Agatha.  "Here  have  I  been  for  the  last  five 
minutes  trying  to  get  an  answer  to  a  very  simple  question." 

"  What  question  ?"  asked  Robert,  abstractedly 

"  Well,  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death — so  you  need  not 
exhibit  such  absorbing  interest.  Will  you  have  another 
cup  of  coffee  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer  ;  "I  believe  not.  Let 
me  see," 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  sec  Robert  so  serious  upon  that  sub- 
ject," remarked  Mrs.  Clements.  "  It's  a  subject  that  never 
received  due  attention  from  him — though  I've  often  said 
that  in  a  faulty  system  of  dietetics  was  to  be  found  the 
source  of  every  malady."  And  Mrs.  Clements  once  mounted 
upon  her  hobby,  shook  off  her  languor,  and  talked  with  a 
vigor  and  velocity  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an  ordi- 
nary pair  of  lungs. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  mother  ?" 

"  I  do,  Robert." 

"  It's  a  serious  charge,"  said  her  son,  gravely.  "  We 
will  be  .safe  in  assuming  that  one  half  of  the  human  race 
suffers  from  impaired  and  ruined  health  ;  and  if  so,  what 
follows — that  half  the  human  race  are  suffering  because 
they  know  not  what  to  cat,  when  to  eat,  and  how  to  eat. 
Such  an  idea  is  enough  to  make  one  pause." 

"  What  of  the  thousands  who  arc  relieved  from  all  these 
embarrassments,"  observed  Agatha  ;  "  whose  annoyances 


ERNEST   GREY.  37 

arc  all  summed  tip  in  the  simple  question — Can  we  get  any- 
thing to  eat  ?" 

"  Well,  sister  mine,  that's  a  question  that  demands 
only  an  'aye'  or  a  'no.'  !N"o  harassing  details  enter 
into  the  consideration  of  it.  If  people  possess  a  know- 
ledge of  their  own  resources,  it  can  be  easily  and  cor- 
rectly answered.  But  with  mother  the  mere  fact  of  eating 
is  nothing." 

"  Most  true,  Robert.  Two  feelings  alternately  influence 
NIC — the  dread  of  taking  anything  injurious,  or  omitting  to 
take  anything  that  would  be  beneficial.  Anything  else  is 
beneath  the  consideration  of  a  rational  creature.  For  my 
part,  I  wish  eating  could  be  dispensed  with  altogether — it 
is  so  tiresome." 

— • "  '  Oh  cruel  fate, 

Thnt  Rosalinda  can't  by  proxy  eat,' 

Eh,  mother  ?"  said  Robert. 

"  I  have  often  told  you,  Robert,"  petulantly  exclaimed 
the  mother,  "  that  the  wretched,  trifling  kind  of  talk  in 
which  you  arc  so  prone  to  indulge,  is  disagreeable  to  me. 
You  don't  seem  to  realize— neither  you  nor  your  father — 
and  indeed  I  may  say,  neither  does  Agatha- — how  very 
delicate  I  am,  and  how  much  I  suffer.  Yet  you  don't 
appear  obtuse  on  other  points.  No,  no,  Robert ;  don't 
talk  to  me — I'm  not  able  for  it.  Talk  to  Agatha." 


38  BROTHER  AND   SISTER. 

"  v  ery  well.  Agatha,  come  here," — and  he  drew  her  to 
the  window — "  what  was  father  saying  this  morning  ?" 

"  About  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  about  me,"  said  Robert,  bitterly  ;  "  am  I  not  up 
for  discussion  at  every  meal." 

"  He  wishes  you  to  attend  to  business  regularly — to  be 
seen  at  home  sometimes, — and  to  go  down  to  the  office 
to-day.  That's  not  too  much  ?" 

"  Xo — that's  not  too  much  ;  but  how  was  it  said,  that's 
the  thing.  I  don't  believe  father  was  ever  young.  Here 
am  I  past  seventeen — time  for  a  man  to  be  independent ; 
and  I  haven't  got  a  sixpence  that  I  can  call  my  own. 
Sixpence  !  I  haven't  got  a  cent ;  but  as  he  doles  it  out 
to  me  ;  and  you  know  how  that's  done — either  in  churlish 
silence,  or  accompanied  with  bitter  reflections  on  my  past 
extravagance.  I  wonder  did  his  father  ever  treat  him  so. 
I'm  not  so  extravagant  as  any  one  of  my  acquaintances — 
no,  not  by  a  long  shot.  There's  "Will  Somers — he  receives 
three  or  four  times  the  amount  I  do  ;  and  yet  he  always 
wants  money.  He  wants  it  now — he  wants  fifty  dollars 
from  me,  and  I  promised  to  have  it  for  him  this  evening. 

"  Oh,  Robert !  how  could  you  be  so  foolish  ?" 

"What  could  I  do,  Agatha?  You  don't  understand 
these  things.  That  sneering  fellow,  Dick  Morton,  was 
present,  and  he  said — '  Don't  ask  Robert — he  lend  money  1 
— he's  too  much  afraid  of  the  Governor.'  I  must  have  it 


ERNEST  GREY.  39 

tonight — I'll  go  right  down  to  the  office  and  sound  father. 
If  he  behaves  generously  with  me  now,  I'll  be  as  regular  as 
clockwork  in  futur.\  If  he  don't — ho  !  for  California." 
And  with  this  threat  on  his  tongue,  Robert  proceeded  to 
the  office. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ROBERT  CLEMENTS'  FINANCIAL  SCHEME — THE  FIFTY  DOLLAR 
BILL. 

MR.  CLEMENTS  was  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  Robert 
in  the  office  about  an  hour  after  he  had  himself  got  there  ; 
but  in  accordance  with  what  he  considered  a  judicious  plan, 
he  took  no  notice  of  him,  for  Mr.  Clements  was  one  of 
those  persons — and  their  name  is  legion — who  censure 
promptly,  but  praise  reluctantly. 

Robert  set  to  work  with  a  will,  for  he  was  anxious  to 
propitiate  his  father,  and  to  silence  the  importunate  monitor 
within.  Stimulated  by  such  motives,  he  succeeded  even 
beyond  his  most  sanguine  anticipations.  With  success 
came  self-complacency,  and  he  sought  his  father's  face 
with  a  look  that  seemed  to  say  "  here  I  am,  father,  what 
do  you  say  now."  But  Mr.  Clements  said  nothing,  by  a 
word  or  look.  "  He  hid  behind  his  face,"  and  what  a 
hiding-place  that  was  !  Robert  could  make  nothing  of  it, 
so  he  resolved  to  take  the  initiative,  for  the  day  was 
wearing  awav,  and  he  was  beginning  to  feel  desperate.  In 


ERNEST  GREY.  41 

fancy  he  saw  the  contemptuous  sneer,  and  heard  the  mock- 
ing laugh  of  Dick  Morton.  With  a  flushed  cheek  he 
threw  down  his  pen,  and  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Ha !  tired  already,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  in  a  chilling  tone. 

A  bad  beginning,  thought  Robert ;  but  a  bad  beginning 
often  makes  a  good  end — so  here  goes. 

"  No,  not  tired  exactly — only  a  little  wearied.  I'm  so 
unused  to  sitting  ;  but  when  I'm  fairly  broken  in,  I  guess 
I'll  work  in  the  harness  as  ploddingly  as  the  oldest  stager 
in  the  concern." 

Mr.  Clements  wrote  on,  and  gave  no  sign  that  he  had 
heard  him. 

"  Father,"  said  Robert,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I  really 
think  I've  a  talent  for  business.  It  strikes  me  very  forcibly 
that  I  could " 

"  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  turning  right  round  and 
facing  his  conscious  son,  "what's  your  object?  Is  your 
coming  down  here  to-day  a  mere  trick  ?  I  know  you  are 
extravagant — I  don't  want  to  think  you  mean.  If  you 
want  money,  ask  for  it,  and  don't  beat  about  the  bush." 

"  If  I  want  it !     That  I  do,"  said  Robert,  emphatically. 

"  Then,  sir,  perhaps  you  will  learn  the  proper  value  of  it 
in  time.  You  will  get  none  from  me." 

Mr.  Clements  resumed  his  pen,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred 
to  disturb  his  equanimity,  and  filled  page  after  page  with 
an  industry  that  would  have  been,  at  once,  example  and 


42  THE   FIFTY   DOLLAR   BILL. 

reproof  to  Robert,  if  Robert  had  not  been  too  much  occu- 
pied with  his  own  thoughts  to  observe  him  ;  but  all  the 
time  he  was  engrossed  by  the  one  idea — how  to  get  the 
money  before  evening.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  How  could 
he  meet  his  gay  companions  without  a  cent  of  the  promised 
sum  ?  He  was  so  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  that  he 
did  not  observe  his  father  leaving  the  room,  nor  the 
entrance  of  one  of  the  porters  of  the  establishment,  till  the 
man  addressed  him. 

"  Papers  ?  Yes,  there  are  papers  on  the  desk — who 
wants  them  ?" 

"  Mr.  Clements,"  said  the  man. 

"  Well,  take  them.    These  must  be  the  ones  wanted. 

"  Was  ever  fellow  in  such  a  fix  ?"  said  Robert,  pacing 
up  and  down  the  apartment  after  the  man  departed  ;  "  was 
ever  any  fellow  hi  such  a  fix  as  I  am  ?  I'm  regularly 
floored  !  Get  it  I  must,  if  I  beg,  borrow,  or  steal.  Beg- 
ging I  have  tried  already — not  much  to  be  made  by  that. 
What  if  I  try  borrowing  ?  Ay  !  very  good  ;  but  who'll 
lend — two  must  play  at  that  game.  Why,  what  is  this  ?" 

On  the  floor,  by  Mr.  Clements  desk,  lay  a  small  piece  of 
paper.  Robert  picked  it  up — it  was  a  fifty  dollar  bill. 

"Just  the  amount.  Fortune  owed  me  a  good  turn — 
that's  a  fact ;  and  she's  inclined  to  clear  off  scores — an 
honest  old  lady,  after  all.  But  father  will  miss  it.  Pshaw  ! 
nonsense  !  not  he.  What  an  idea  !" 


ERNEST  GREY.  43 

He  paused  a  while  and  then  continued — •"  Now  Dick 
Morton,  my  fine  fellow,  we'll  see.  Come  along  Bob, — 
you  are  not  beat  yet  my  boy." 

Putting  the  bill  in  his  pocket  after  this  self  commen- 
dation, he  hastened  out  without  a  thought  of  the  open,  dis- 
arranged desk  he  left  behind. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

ERNEST   GREY   AT    HOME RICHARD    KANE'S    UMBRELLA. 

A  LITTLE  before  Grey's  time  for  coming  home,  Lizzy  took 
her  sewing  and  hastened  down,  anxious  to  discover,  if 
possible,  her  friend  of  the  morning.  The  name  on  the 
handle  after  all  might  not  be  his,  but  she  was  in  hopes 
that  her  description  taken  in  connection  with  it,  might 
enable  Grey  to  make  him  out  and  return  the  umbrella. 

The  rain  was  beating  unmercifully  against  the  windows, 
and  the  moaning  dismal  wind  swept  through  the  narrow 
lane  making  "wintry  music."  Up  it  came  under  the 
broken  door  frame,  and  through  the  shattered  window 
panes,  and  played  around  the  flickering  lamp  and  shivering 
inmates,  and  then  again  its  accompaniment,  the  rain,  beat 
upon  the  glass.  It  was  one  of  those  depressing  evenings 
that  check  the  flow  of  the  animal  spirits  as  the  frost  binds 
up  the  stream. 

"  Why  Jane,"  said  Lizzy  entering — "  how  comfortable 
the  place  looks — it  feels  almost  warm." 

"  Ernest  was  in  such  low  spirits  this  morning,  anf  itV 


ERNEST  GREY.  45 

so  cold" — she  drew  the  thin  shawl  close  around  her — 
"  that  I  thought  I  would  have  the  place  a  little  comfort- 
able for  him  when  he  came  home.  So  I  put  out  the  fire, 
put  Steve  in  bed  and  kept  myself  as  warm  as  I  could. 
Now  I  have  a  good  fire  without  being  extravagant,  Liz. 
That's  the  reason." 

"  You're  a  dear,  good  soul,  Jane — That's  what  you  are. 
But  where's  Steve  ?  Sleeping  ?  Shall  I  wake  him." 

"  Do — his  father  will  be  here  presently." 

Lizzy  tried  to  waken  him,  but  in  vain — the  little  eye- 
lids were  firmly  closed. 

"  The  lazy  fellow  ! "  she  said  turning  away — "  he  sleeps 
like  a  top." 

A  twitching  about  the  mouth  and  a  tremulous  motion 
of  the  eye-lids  betrayed  him. 

"  Oh  !  you  young  rogue.  I've  caught  vou  at  last,"  said 
Lizzy  stooping  down. 

He  was  asleep. 

"  Well  !  if  I  didn't  think  he  was  tricking  me,  Jane, — 
and  the  poor  child  fast  asleep." 

"  No  I  ain't !  I  ain't  asleep,"  shouted  the  child,  delight- 
ed at  the  success  of  his  ruse.  "  I  heard  you  all  the  time — 
I  was  only  making  believe.  Now  let  me  up — here's  father." 

"  Yes,  and  wet  through,"  said  Jane  laying  her  hand 
-upon  his  shoulder.  "Throw  off  that  coat  Ernest,  and 
put  this  shawl  about  you." 


46  RICHARD  KANE'S  UMBRELLA. 

"  What  !  the  shawl  you're  wearing  ?  I'll  do  no  such 
thing,"  was  the  almost  angry  reply. 

"  Ain't  she  a  great  woman  Lizzy,  to  be  giving  up  her 
shawl  ?  Which  of  us  looks  the  coldest.  Put  on  your 
shawl  Jane,"  he  continued,  coughing  down  some  uneasy 
sensation.  "  There  I'll  take  my  coat  off,  if  that'll  satisfy 
you — it  will  soon  dry  at  that  fire." 

"  Ain't  it  a  good  fire,  father  ?"  said  Steve,  triumph- 
antly. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  a  warm  fire,"  and  he  drew  closer  to  its 
cheerful  blaze. 

More  loud  and  incessant  grew  the  dash  of  the  rain  drops, 
and  more  angry  the  importunate  wind  rattled  at  the  case- 
ment, but  all  the  brighter  burned  the  fire,  glowing  and 
sparkling  as  if  it  derived  new  life  and  vigor  from  the  ele- 
mental contest. 

"  We  had  no  fire  all  day,  father,  and  mother  kept  me  in 
bed." 

Ernest  turned  round  quickly,  and  gave  his  wife  one  look 
that  would  have  repaid  her  for  weeks  spent  among  Alpine 
snows. 

"  How  it  storms,"  said  Lizzy,  as  a  gust  shook  the  win- 
dow. "  I  never  saw  such  a  day." 

"  Father  don't  like  the  rain — do  you,  father  ?"  said  the 
child. 

"  No,  my  sou." 


ERNEST   GREY.  47 

"Well,  father,  why  don't  you  get  an  umbrella?  Liz 
has  one." 

"  Has  she  ?  that's  right." 

"  Oh  yes,  and  such  a  nice  one.     Where  is  it,  Liz  ?" 

Jane  brought  the  umbrella,  and  showed  it  to  her  husband. 

"  Richard  Kane  I"  said  he,  after  a  close  scrutiny  of  the 
Handle  ;  "  why,  that's  the  name  of  the  carpenter  that  Mr. 
Clements  employs  sometimes," 

"  Is  he  young  or  old  ?" 

"  "Well,  he's  a  good-looking  young  fellow  of  twenty-five, 
or  thereabouts." 

"That's  his  umbrella.  Will  you  bring  it  to  him  to- 
morrow, Mr.  Grey,  and  tell  him  Fm  so  thankful  to  him  ?" 

"How  did  you  come  by  it,  Lizzy?  Do  you  know 
Kane  ?" 

"No,  but  I  met  him  this  morning  during  a  heavy 
shower,  and  he  forced  me  to  take  it." 

"  Yery  likely,  it  was  him  :  he  is  just  the  man  to  do  such 
a  thing.  There's  not  a  braver  nor  a  kinder  fellow  in  the 
whole  Fire  Department,  and  that's  saying  a  great  deal.  I 
shall  bring  him  the  umbrella  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  give  away  the  nice  umbrella  with  the  letters," 
said  Steve.  "  It's  mine,  father." 

"  Yours  !     Oh,  Steve,  for  shame  !"  said  his  mother. 

"  Liz  would  give  it  to  me  without  me  asking  her — so  she 
would.  Wouldn't  you,  Liz  ?" 


48 


RICHARD  KANE'S  UMBRELLA. 


"  Come  here,  ray  son,"  said  his  father,  taking  the 
child  upon,  his  knee,  while  his  sad  care-worn  face  looked 
a  shade  sadder.  "Will  Liz  give  your  marbles  to  Jim 
Birch  r 

"No,  she  wont,"  said  Steve,  decidedly,  "they're  not 
hcr's  ;  they're  mine,  so  they  are:" 

"  But  if  she'd  rather  give  them  to  him  ?" 

"  She  wouldn't,"  persisted  Steve,  reddening  and  manfully 
keeping  down  the  tears — "would  you,  Liz — would  you 
give  my  marbles  to  Jim  Birch  ?  She  wouldn't." 

"  But  if  she  would,  Steve  ?"  repeated  his  father. 

"  They  ain't  her's,  father  ;  they're  mine,  and  I  wont  let 
her,"  said  Steve,  thoroughly  roused. 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  the  father,  putting  him  down  ; 
"  that  umbrella  belongs  to  Richard  Kane.  Now,  can  Liz 
give  it  to  you  ?" 

With  a  child's  instinctive  quickness  he  saw  the  drift  of 
his  father's  question,  and  remained  silent  for  awhile  ;  then 
turning  to  Lizzy  Roberts,  he  said — "I  don't  want  the 
umbrella  ;  I'll  buy  one  when  I  get  money  of  my  own." 

"  I  think  I  heard  a  noise,"  said  Lizzy,  rising  ;  "  mother 
must  be  awake.  You  won't  forget  the  umbrella,  Mr. 
Grey  ?" 

Lizzy  found  her  mother  sitting  up  in  bed,  impatient  for 
a  drink,  and  angry  at  having  been  left  alone.  Old  age 
and  ill  health  had  impaired  her  reason,  and  she  was  often 


ERNEST   GREY.  49 

querrulous  and  exacting,  sometimes  accusing  her  daughter 
of  depriving  her  of  the  requisite  nourishment,  and  lamenting 
her  own  fate  in  having  such  a  hard-hearted  child.  Poor 
Lizzy  Roberts  !  before  this  trouble  all  others  seemed 
nought.  She  could  sit  and  sew  until  two  or  three  in  the 
morning,  eat  sparingly  of  coarse  food,  and  be  contented ; 
feel  her  strength  wearing  day  by  day,  without  a  care  save 
that  it  might  be  preserved  to  her  while  her  mother  lived  ; 
know  that-  her  youth  was  going  by  the  day — not  year — 
and  that  her  good  looks  were  of  the  past,  without  a  sigh. 
But  this  was  too  much  for  her — she  wasn't  hardened  to  it 
yet. 

The  drink  was  given  and  after  some  incoherent  grumb- 
ling the  old  woman  fell  asleep.  Then-  Lizzy  raked  the 
dying  embers  together,  trimmed  the  lamp,  bathed  her  eyes 
in  cold  water,  and  drawing  her  bench  close  to  the  miser- 
able fire  sat  down  to  work.  The  fire  did  not  last  long,  for 
it  was  not  replenished.  Once,  indeed,  she  turned  to  the 
coal  pail  but  it  was  half  empty,  and  with  a  sigh  the  needle 
was  resumed.  Thus  she  sat  and  sewed  for  hours  ;  the 
noisy  city  became  gradually  still,  the  sounds  of  life  died 
away,  the  wind  which  had  worn  itself  out  gently  expired, 
and  nothing  was  heard  save  the  ceaseless  drip  of  the  rain. 

Terrified  at  finding  herself  yielding  to  sleep,  Lizzy  had 
again  recourse  to  the  cold  water,  and,  after  a  vigorous 
application,  took  up  her  unfinished  task.  She  worked 


50  THE   SHIRT   SEWER. 

rapidly  for  a  while  but  sleep  overcame  her.  "  Blessings 
on  the  man  who  invented  sleep "  said  Sancho  Panza,  but 
how  would  Lizzy  Roberts,  and  her  sad  sisterhood  bless 
the  man  who  could  annihilate  sleep. 

"  If  I  was  sure  to  awake  at  five,"  said  Lizzy,  continu- 
ing the  debate  with  herself  that  had  been  going  on  for 
a  long  time,  "  I  might  lay  down.  I  guess  the  cold  won't 
let  me  sleep  too  long — I  could  finish  it  up  in  two  hours." 

Having  placed  the  matches  at  hand  for  the  morning, 
and  carefully  extinguished  the  lamp,  Lizzy  wrapped  a 
shawl  around  her,  threw  herself  across  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  was  soon  in  a  fitful  troubled  slumber. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

PAY-UAY  IN  THE  SHIRT  STORE. HOW  THEY  DO  BUSINESS  IN 

MR.  SHAKPE'S. — LIZZY  ROBERTS'  BOARDER. 

As  Lizzy  had  foreseen,  the  cold  wakened  her  early  enough, 
and  she  arose  shivering,  with  fingers  numb  and  temples 
burning,  but  she  had  no  time  to  be  sick, — so  after  squeez- 
ing and  rubbing  her  hands  to  warm  them,  she  began 
where  she  had  left  off  three  hours  before,  and  by  seven 
had  her  work  neatly  folded  up  ready  to  take  to  the  store. 
One  hasty  glance  at  the  bed  to  assure  herself  that  her 
mother  still  slept,  and  snatching  up  her  bundle  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  usual  she  hurried  away. 

It  was  pay-day,  and  she  thought  as  she  hastened  to  the 
store  how  delighted  her  mother  would  be  to  get  a  good 
cup  of  tea,  and  the  unusual  luxury  of  butter. 

Now  Mr.  Sharpe  was  a  tactician  in  his  way,  equal  to 
any  military  or  political  strategist  that  ever  rose  to  fame  ; 
indeed  in  the  abstruse  science  of  business  politics  he  had 
no  superior.  In  his  store  there  was  one  fixed  principle  of 
action,  one  settled  rale  of  business — never  to  receive  work 


52  PAY-DAY  IN  THE   SHIRT  STORE. 

without  making  depreciatory  remarks  upon  it,  lest  the 
girls  thinking  it  faultless  might  become  remiss,  just  as  a 
jockey  would  apply  whip  and  spur  to  a  horse  at  full 
speed  to  prevent  him  slacking.  Of  course  Lizzy  had  to  go 
through  the  ordeal,  and  after  that  was  told  there  was  no 
work  cut  out — that  she  might  wait ;  and  she  did  wait  for 
more  than  an  hour  and  was  then  told  to  leave  her  book 
and  it  would  be  made  up. 

"  Not  pay  to-day  1"  exclaimed  an  indignant  voice.  "  Why 
not  ?  You  told  me  you  paid  your  hands  every  week  ;  and 
here  have  I  been  working  for  a  month  without  receiving  a 
cent.  How  do  you  expect  we  can  get  on  without  money  ?" 

"  Can't  pay  to-day,"  was  the  curt  reply  of  the  cashier. 
"  Got  a  bill  to  meet." 

•"  And  have  I  not  got  a  bill  to  meet  ?  have  I  not  got  my 
board  to  pay  ?  I  must  have  my  book  settled." 

"  So  must  I,"  said  one,  "  and  so  must  I,"  said  another. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  a  tremulous  voice,  "  won't  you 
settle  my  book  ?  You  promised  last  week — indeed  you 
did.  I  don't  feel  well,  and  I  want  to  go  to  an  aunt  I  have 
in  Connecticut.  I  told  you  all  about  it  last  week." 

The  speaker  was  a  slight,  young  girl,  with  sunken  eyes, 
and  cheeks  brilliant  with  that  deadly  cosmetic — consump- 
tion. Her  hand  was  pressed  to  her  side  while  speaking, 
as  5f  the  exertion  pained  her,  and  her  words  were  jerked 
00}  at  intervals. 


ERNEST  GREY.  53 

Mr.  Jones  winced  under  this  appeal — he  remembered 
his  promise  perfectly,  and  if  she  had  been  alone  he  would 
probably  have  kept  it.  But  what  could  he  do — he  got 
orders  not  to  pay,  and  he  could  not  venture  to  disregard 
them. 

"  Connecticut  I  Poor  thing  I"  murmured  one  of  the 
workers  who  stood  beside  Lizzy  ;  "  the  air  of  Italy  wouldn't 
save  her.  Mr.  Jones,"  she  said  aloud,  "  settle  her  book, 
and  I'll  leave  mine  over  for  a  week,  and  so  I'm  sure  will 
others." 

"  God  knows  I  would  cheerfully,"  said  an  elderly  woman, 
"  if  I  had  no  one  to  think  of  but  myself,  but  I  can't  forget 
my  two  little  children." 

"  Nor  I  my  poor  mother,"  whispered  Lizzy,  turning  her 
moistened  eyes  to  the  person  beside  her. 

"  It  ain't  a  great  deal,"  said  the  young  girl,  "  only  four 
dollars  ;  I  couldn't  earn  much.  I  wouldn't  mind  coming 
again  for  it,  if  I  was  able." 

"  Are  you  going  to  pay  any  one  ?"  said  the  person  who 
resented  his  want  of  punctuality. 

"  Can't  do  it,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

"Why  do  you  put  in  your  advertisements  'pay  every 
week,'  then,  humbugging  people." 

"  Who's  raising  her  voice  in  this  store  ?"  said  the  pro- 
prietor majestically,  opening  the  parlor-door  and  display- 
ins  a  well-furnished  breakfast-tablo. 


54        HOW  THEY   DO   BUSINESS   IN   MB.    SHARPED. 

"  A  woman  kicking  up  a  muss  about  her  money,"  replied 
the  clerk. 

"  Discharge  that  woman,  Thomas  ;  we  can't  have  dis- 
orderly people  working  for  us.  What's  on  her  book  ?  Let 
me  see." 

"  Six  dollars  and  thirty-seven  cents.  Can  you  change  a 
dollar  bill,  missus  ?" 

An  emphatic  shake  of  the  head  was  the  only  answer. 

"  It  isn't  every  one  can  afford  to  throw  up  work,"  solilo- 
quized the  gentleman,  examining  a  plethoric  pocket-book. 
"  /  can't  afford  to  throw  up  my  customers.  Ah,  you  can't 
change  a  dollar  bill  ?  Then  you've  got  to  come  after  the 
thirty-seven  cents  again,  or  I'll  change  it  for  you  and  deduct 
sixpence — that's  the  rate  in  Wall  street." 

"  Sixpence  for  changing  a  bill !"  exclaimed  the  woman, 
amazed.  "  I  could  get  it  changed  in  any  grocery  store  up 
town." 

"  You  could,  eh  ?  Well,  you  see  we  haven't  got  the  up- 
town way  of  doing  business  here.  We  do  different.  Will 
you  have  it,  ma-am  ?  We  don't  want  to  force  you  to 
take  it." 

"  Of  course  I  must,"  she  .said,  indignantly  ;  "  I  can't  be 
coming  after  it  all  the  time." 

"  Six  dollars  and  thirty-one  cents — all  right,  ma-am — we 
don't  cheat  any  one  in  this  establishment.  Thomas,  you 
can  manage  matters  without  me,  I  suppose." 


EBNEST  GREY.  55 

Having  arranged  this  matter  to  his  satisfaction,  the 
shirt  manufacturer  returned  to  his  comfortable  breakfast, 
inveighing  against  the  insolent  and  discontented  spirit  of 
the  poor.  As  soon  as  he  left  the  store,  the  young  girl  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  Lizzy  Roberts  on  a  previous  occasion, 
came  from  behind  the  counter,  and  stooping  down,  put  four 
dollars  into  the  hand  of  the  poor  invalid,  saying  in  a  low 
voice — 

"  Thomas  will  pay  it  back  to  me.  Go  to  your  aunt  at 
once." 

Mr.  Jones  declared  positively  that  he  would  pay  all 
hands  in  two  days,  and  deterred  by  the  vigorous  measures 
of  Mr.  Sharpe,  they  left  the  store  dissatisfied,  but  silent. 

Sorrowfully  Lizzy  retraced  her  steps.  How  could  she 
return  home — how  soothe  her  mother's  childish  fretfulness — 
how  apologize  to  the  grocer  who  had  trusted  her  so  long, 
and  who  expected  payment  to-day.  "  I  have  got  to  do  it," 
she  repeated  to  herself  again  and  again,  as  if  the  phrase 
were  a  spell  to  exorcise  indecision — "I  have  got  to  do  it — 
I  wish  I  was  at  home.  Half-past  nine  !"  she  said  aloud, 
as  she  looked  at  the  City  Hall  clock — "two  whole  hours 
lost !" 

"  Yon  walk  very  fast,  Miss  Roberts.  I  found  it  difficult 
to  overtake  you." 

Lizzy  turned,  and  saw  beside  her  the  person  who  had 
proposed  to  do  without  her  money,  on  condition  that  her 


56  LIZZY  ROBERTS'  BOARDER. 

invalid  fellow-worker  was  provided  with  means  to  go  to 
Connecticut.  Margaret  Linwood,  for  such  was  the  name 
of  her  new  companion,  seemed  to  be  five  or  six  years  older, 
and  judging  from  the  expression  of  her  features,  had  more 
intellect  and  strength  of  character.  She  might  be  con- 
sidered a  type  of  that  class  of  women  who  are  sometimes 
to  be  met  with"  in  the  work-rooms  of  the  great  metropolis, 
and  who  have  been  reduced  from  a  state  of  independence 
to  labor  for  their  support.  To  considerable  natural  abili- 
ties were  added  the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education,  and 
these,  combined  with  high  principles  and  a  kind  benevolent 
heart,  made  Margaret  Linwood  a  woman  of  no  ordinary 
character. 

"I  wanted  to  make  up  for  the  time  I  lost  in  the 
store,"  said  Lizzy ;  "we  have  been  kept  waiting  so 
long.  I  wonder  Mr  Sharpe  can  reconcile  it  to  his  con- 
science." 

"  Oh  1  he  is  on  such  good  terms  with  his  conscience," 
replied  Margaret,  "that  he  can  afford  to  take  liberties 
with  it.  Besides,  Mr.  Sharpe  is  a  great  moral  teacher — he 
gives  his  workers  facilities  for  practicing  the  sublime  Chris- 
tian virtues,  patience  and  humility,  and  he  disinterestedly 
gives  them,  in  his  own  person,  examples  of  what  they 
should  avoid.  But  it  was  not  for  the  purpose  of  passing  a 
eulogium  on  Mr.  Sharpe  that  I  followed  you  :  I  want  to 
know  if  you  will  take  me  as  a  boarder." 


ERNEST   GREY.  57 

"  Boarder !"  repeated  Lizzy  with  unfeigned  astonish 
raent ;  "  we  have  no  accommodations  for  any  one." 

"I  don't  want  accommodations.  How  could  a  shirt- 
sewer  pay  for  them  ?  I  want  a  shelter — a  corner  in  the 
room  occupied  by  yourself  and  mother  would  be  accommo- 
dation enough  for  me.  If  you  cannot  board  me,  at  least 
give  me  house-room,  and  I  will  pay  half  the  rent." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Lizzy  ;  "I  would 
like  to  consult  mother.  But  you  don't  know  how  miserable 
our  place  is." 

"  The  place  I  live  in  is  not  very  magnificent ;  the  rent  is 
three  dollars  a  month." 

"  That's  what  we  pay." 

"  Then  by  my  plan  we  could  each  save  three  shillings  a 
week,  and  it  would  take  some  thousand  stitches  to  earn  that." 

"I  know  it,"  assented  Lizzy;  "but  my  mother  is  very 
old  and  very  ill,  and  she  talks  wild  sometimes  :  besides,  we 
live  in  the  attic." 

"  So  much  the  better — I  can  work  6n  without  interrup- 
tion. Nothing  could  there  distract  my  attention." 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  Lizzy,  turning  down  Short's 
alley,  and  stealing  a  glance  at  her  companion,  to  see  the 
effect  it  produced,  for  during  the  walk  she  had  been  revolv- 
ing the  proposition  in  her  mind,  until  she  realized  its  advan- 
tages. Three  shillings  a  week  without  an  extra  stitch — 
turn  it  as  she  would,  it  meant  that. 


58  LIZZY  ROBERTS'  BOARDER. 

They  made  their  way  up  the  trembling  stairs,  avoiding 
the  frail  balusters,  more  a  trap  than  a  support,  and  heard 
Mrs.  Roberts'  incoherent  mutterings,  even  before  they 
entered  the  room.  Lizzy  immediately  made  known  to  her 
Margaret's  proposition,  to  which  she  listened  attentively, 
but  the  only  clear  idea  she  had  was,  that  they  were  to 
receive  three  shillings  a  w.eek. 

"  And  when  you  get  so  much  money,  Lizzy,"  she  said  in  a 
tone  of  childish  entreaty,  "  won't  you  buy  me  some  wine  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  yes." 

_  ' '  Say,  Lizzy,"  she  continued  in  an  audible  whisper, ' '  couldn't 
the  lady  give  you  the  money  now,  and  let  you  buy  it  ?" 

Lizzy  was  just  then  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing, 
and  of  course  could  not  hear  her  mother's  suggestion  ;  cer- 
tainly she  did  not  reply  to  it,  but  bustled  about  the  room, 
making  an  unusual  noise  for  one  so  quiet.  Margaret  had 
taken  her  seat  on  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
listened  to  the  old  woman's  words  without  appearing  to 
hear  them,  and  noticed  Lizzy's  transparent  stratagem  with- 
out appearing  to  see  it. 

"  Well,  Miss  Roberts,"  she  said,  addressing  Lizzy,  "  you 
have  given  me  no  answer  yet.  Believe  me,  I  would  not  be 
troublesome,  either  as  a  lodger  or  boarder.  If  I  under- 
stand your  mother,  she  will  not  object." 

"  No  1  no  !  no  !  nor  Lizzy  neither,"  exclaimed  the  old 
woman,  with  unusual  vehemence. 


ERNEST  GREY.  59 

"Yery  well,  then  ;  it's  all  settled." 

Opening  her  little  bundle,  she  took  out  her  work  and 
began  sewing,  while  Lizzy  was  coaxing  the  kettle  to  boil 
with  the  smallest  possible  modicum  of  fire  ;  but  the  kettle 
was  obstinate — it  would  not  be  coaxed — it  stood  upon  its 
dignity,  and  required  just  as  much  heat  there  as  in  the 
kitchens  of  the  Fifth  Avenue.  All  the  time  that  Lizzy 
seemed  intent  only  on  boiling  the  kettle,  she  was  nerving 
herself  to  face  the  grocer.  Her  evident  abstraction  was 
observed,  and  rightly  interpreted  by  Margaret,  who  knew 
the  cruel  disappointment  she  had  suffered  that  morning  at 
the  store. 

"  You  are  to  be  housekeeper,"  she  said,  "  so  you  will 
take  charge  of  this  dollar,  and  every  pay-day  we  will  make 
up  our  accounts." 

Relieved  thus  opportunely,  Lizzy  set  about  preparing 
breakfast  in  real  earnest ;  and  while  she  is  thus  occupied, 
we  will  see  how  it  fares  with  the  other  characters  in  our 
story. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    STOLEN    BILL PHYSIC    AND    LITERATURE PRISON 

DISCIPLINE. 

WITH  a  brow  more  clouded  than  usual,  Mr.  Clements 
returned  home.  Contrary  to  Robert's  expectations,  he 
missed  the  bill  almost  immediately,  and  hurried  back  to 
his  office  in  search  of  it.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  his 
efforts  were  fruitless.  On  whom  did  his  suspicions  fall  ? 
On  Robert  ?  Not  for  a  moment.  Though  Robert  was 
wild,  thoughtless  and  extravagant,  he  was  his  son,  and  to 
suspect  him,  would  be  to  insult  himself.  His  son  become  a 
thief '.—preposterous.  He  would  have  repelled  the  idea 
indignantly,  if  such  an  idea  could  have  entered  his  mind. 
No  ;  if  he  thought  of  Robert's  visit  to  the  counting-house,  it 
was  a  fortunate  occurrence  by  which  lie  might  ascertain, 
with  more  exactness,  the  time  the  money  disappeared.  It 
was  not  the  amount  lost  that  annoyed  him,  but  the  fact 
that  there  was  some  one  about  him  he  could  not  trust.  If 
fifty  dollars  were  taken,  why  not  a  thousand — why  not 
more  ? 


ERNEST   GREY.  61 

Agatha  observed  her  father's  gloomy  look,  and  attributed 
it  to  Robert's  having  asked  for  the  fifty  dollars  ;  but  deem- 
ing it  more  prudent  to  appear  ignorant  of  the  matter,  she 
abstained  from  alluding  to  it,  even  indirectly. 

"  I  want  Robert.  Is  he  at  home,  Agatha  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Clements. 

"  I  think  not,"  she  replied,  at  a  loss  to  understand  what 
he  was  required  for,  for  her  father's  voice  had  lost  the 
asperity  with  which  he  generally  spoke  of,  or  to,  his  son. 
One  thing  was  evident  to  her, — he  did  not  want  to  lecture 
him — the  annoyance,  whatever  it  was,  proceeded  from  some 
other  quarter. 

It  was  soon  ascertained  that  Robert  was  not  at  home, 
having  left  about  half  an  hour  before  his  father  arrived. 
Mr.  Clements  felt  disappointed,  and  in  moody  silence  paced 
up  and  down  the  room,  thinking  over  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  theft,  and  endeavoring  to  fix  upon  the 
guilty  party.  Mrs.  Clements,  unconscious  of  or  indifferent 
to  what  was  going  on  about  her,  was  attentively  studying 
the  last  new  novel,  and  had  just  reached  the  most  interest- 
ing part  of  the  story,  where  difficulties  gather  around  the 
heroine  like  clouds  around  the  sun  at  eventide,  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  visitors. 

Mrs.  Alworthy  and  her  daughters  were  remarkable  for 
nothing  in  particular.  They  dressed  and  talked  just  like 
other  people  ;  minded  their  neighbors  business  more  than 


62  PHYSIC    AND   LITERATURE 

their  own,  just  like  other  people, — and,  in  fact,  were  rather 
common-place  altogether.  Mr.  Hamilton,  a  relative  of 
theirs,  and  a  highly-esteemed  friend  of  Mr.  Clements, 
accompanied  them. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Clements,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  have 
so  much  energy,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  glancing  at  the  open 
book.  "  You  feel  better." 

"  Better  !  Oh,  no  ;  I  don't  expect  ever  to  feel  better. 
I  have  ceased  to  hope." 

"  Don't  you  think  reading  is  too  exciting  for  your  nerves  ? 
• — too  fatiguing." 

"  How  ridiculous  to  say  that  novels  are  fatiguing,"  said 
Miss  Alworthy,  addressing  Agatha.  "  They  never  fatigue 
me — that  is,  if  they  have  plenty  of  love  and  murder,  and 
robbery,  and  that  kind  of  thing  in  them." 

"Does  one  murder  satisfy  you,  Letty?"  inquired  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

"  Pshaw  !  one  murder  is  nothing  in  a  book." 

"  '  Who  peppers  the  highest  is  surest  to  please,' "  said 
Mr.  Clements.  "  Sue  and  Dumas  will  give  you  excitement 
enough." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  they  are  delightful.  Everybody  likes  them. 
You  do,  of  course,  Miss.  Clements.  No  !  Why  not  ?  Don't 
you  like  his  style  of  writing,  his  characters,  and  all  that  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  like  neither  his  characters,  nor  his  incidents. 
I  think  they  are  both  unnatural  and  improbable.  If  we 


ERNEST  OBEY.  63 

must  have  monsters,  I,  for  my  part,  infinitely  prefer  the 
perfect  monsters  of  the  old  school." 

"  Their  women  ought  to  be  sent  to  the  Magdalene  Asy- 
lum, and  their  men  to  Sing  Sing,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  sternly. 
"  Monte  Christo  and  Fleur  de  Marie  are  splendid  types  of 
manly  persistence  and  womanly  purity." 

"Don't  talk  about  such  dreadful  things,"  said  Mrs. 
Clements,  imploringly  ;  -then  addressing  Mrs.  Alworthy, 
she  added — "  I'm  a  perfect  sensitive  plant ;  the  slightest 
thing  agitates  me1:" 

"  Have  you  heard  of  this  new  wonder  discovered  by  a 
French  Chemist?"  inquired  Mrs.  Alworthy,  lowering  her 
voice. 

Mrs.  Clements  became  animated  at  once. 

"  Elixir  vitae  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  feel  a  presentment 
that  that  would  cure  me.  Where  is  it  to  be  got  ?" 

"Somewhere  in  Wall  street.  I  forget  the  number. 
Mr.  Clements  can  find  out  the  exact  place." 

"Xo,  no,  impossible — I'm  so  unfortunately  situated — all 
my  family  enjoy  such  robust  health,  that  they  have  no 
sympathy  for  my  sickness.  They  can't  understand  it — 
they  have  an  idea  it  can  always  be  traced  to  some  extra- 
neous cause.  Indeed,  I  overheard  Robert  say  that  sickness 
was  always  a  punishment  for  some  violation  of  the  physical 
laws  ;  and  that  we  ought  to  be  as  much  ashamed  of  being 
sick  as  intoxicated.  He  did  not  wish  me  to  hear  it,  but, 


64  PHYSIC   AND   LITERATURE. 

nevertheless,  it  hurt  my  feelings  considerably  to  know  that 
he  entertained  such  opinions." 

"  Certainly,  of  course  ;"  said  her  friend,  sympathizingly. 

"  You  recollect  that  last  great  medicine,  the  '  Hystera- 
pipus.'  Well,  I  prpcured  it.  Robert  muttered  something 
terrible  about  humbug.  Mr.  Clements  pshaw'd  and  turned 
upon  his  heel,  and  Agatha  entreated  me  to  take  very  little 
of  it." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Mrs.  Clements,  you  certainly  must  have 
had  great  strength  of  mind  and  fortitude  to  take  it  in  face 
of  such  opposition.  But  what  effect  had  it  on  you  ?" 

"  I'm  firmly  persuaded  I  would  have  been  benefited  by 
it,  if  I  had  complied  rigidly  with  the  directions,  but — I 
really  forget  now  why  I  did  not  I  presume  they  pre- 
vailed upon  me  to  discontinue  it.  However,  I  don't  think 
it  suited  me  exactly." 

"  You  know  Mrs.  Wilson  ?" 

Mrs.  Clements  did. 

"  She  was  effectually  cured  by  the  Hysterapipus." 

"  Oh,  but  Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  affected  as  I  am,"  said 
Mrs.  Clements,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  felt  the  compari- 
son to  be  insulting,  and  resented  it.  "  She's  not  of  a 
nervous  temperament ;  she's  never  carried  away  by  her 
feelings  ;  she  has  no  enthusiasm.  She  could  read  the  most 
affecting  work  without  being  moved  by  it.  I  have  actually 
seen  her  lay  down  a  book,  in  the  middle  of  a  thrilling  pas- 


ERNEST  GREY.  65 

sage,  to  attend  to  her  crying  baby — I  really  did, — and 
that's  a  piece  of  stoicism  I  cannot  comprehend.  Are  they 
talking  about  that  wretched  Sing  Sing  again  ?" 

The  conversation  between  the  gentlemen  had  by  this 
time  become  animated,  arising  out  of  Mr.  Clements'  sum- 
mary way  of  dealing  with  the  heroes  of  Sue  and  Dumas. 

"  Then  you  consider  our  present  system  of  prison  disci- 
pline defective,"  remarked  Mr.  Clements.  ''\yn 

"  Defective  is  not  the  proper  term,"  replied  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton. "  I  consider  it  radically  wrong.  Place  the  boy  or 
man  who  has  made  but  one  false  step,  with  the  criminal 
who  has  grown  grey  in  iniquity — the  pupil  who  has  not 
mastered  the  A  B  C  of  crime  with  its  boasting  professor  ! 
What  can  be  the  result  ?  What  is  the  result  ?  Society 
flings  them  from  her  bosom,  and  they  are  Ishmaels  thence- 
forth. The  next  session  sees  them  up  again  for  punish- 
ment." 

"You  are  proving  my  case,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  tri- 
umphantly. "  The  very  moment  they  are  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  police,  they  return  to  their  former  haunts  and  occu- 
pations. This,  you  yourself  admit.  Is  it  not  another  ver- 
sion of  what  I  have  said,  that  they  are  prone  to  evil,  and 
must  be  held  in  check  ?" 

"  You  misunderstand  me.  I  do  not  admit  that  they  are 
more  prone  to  evil  than  you,  or  I,  or  any  other  man.  If 
we  were  placed  in  the  like  circumstances,  subjected  to  the 


66  PRISON   DISCIPLINE. 

same  influences,  educated  as  they  have  been — it  may  be, 
tempted  as  they  have  been,  we  might  add  another  to  the 
proofs  of  human  depravity  that  the  perverted  industry  of 
man  brings  against  his  own  species.  The  prisoner  enters 
his  cell,  guilty,  we  will  admit ;  but  still  a  human  being — he 
leaves  it — what  our  laws  make  him ;  and  if  '  the  second 
state  of  that  man  is  worse  than  the  first,'  where  lies  the 
blame  ?" 

"  With  the  individual,  I  say  again,"  replied  Mr.  Clements. 
"  He  is  naturally  bad,  each  day  makes  him  worse — there  is 
no  road  to  the  man's  heart — impunity  makes  him  bold — dis- 
covery makes  him  reckless.  No,  my  dear  sir  ;  you  can  do 
nothing  with  him.  And,  depend  upon  it,  there  are  none 
of  these  such  novices  as  you  imagine  ;  they  have  not  been 
detected  in  the  first  offence,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third. 
What  would  you  do  with  them  ?  Let  them  loose  upon 
society  ?  We  are  living  in  the  nineteenth  century,  Mr. 
Hamilton,  and  in  the  United  States — not  Utopia." 

"  Granted,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  smiling.     "  What  would 

I  do  with  them  ?     I  would  treat  them  as  men — erring,  it 

• 

is  true,  but  still  my  fellow-creatures.  Hatred  for  the  crime, 
but  compassion  for  the  criminal,  is  my  creed.  During  the 
last  century  we  have  improved  wonderfully  in  our  treatment 
of  the  insane,  and  what  is  moral  turpitude  but  '  the  heart's 
insanity  ?'  We  are  desirous  of  healing  one — we  are  only 
anxious  to  punish  the  other." 


ERNEST   GREY.  67 

"  I  see  what  would  suit  you — moral  hospitals,  not  prisons. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Hamilton,  it  won't  do  ;  you  are  as  mad  as 
Don  Quixote." 

"  '  They  that  are  whole  need  not  a  physician  ;  but  they 
that  are  sick/  "  said  Agatha,  quietly. 

"This  is  a  social,  not  a  religious  question,"  said  Mr. 
Clements,  turning  to  his  daughter  with  a  look  that  added 
— "  not  a  fit  subject  for  you,  Agatha." 

"  If  prisons  were  as  they  ought  to  be,  reformatory  estab- 
lishments, '  moral  hospitals '  would  be  a  good  name, — I  will 
not  quarrel  with  it.  Now,  Mr.  Clements,  imagine  to  your- 
self how  effective  our  hospitals  would  be  if  they  followed 
the  prison  system — if  men  suffering  from  neglected  cold 
were  placed  in  the  same  ward  with  fever  patients,  how 
many  would  be  dismissed  cured,  think  you  ?  Yet  this  is 
the  plan  we  pursue  in  moral  distempers,  though  the  con- 
tagion works  quicker,  and  the  consequences  are  more 
deplorable." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  there  is  no  analogy  whatever.  Disease 
is  not  the  result  of  choice — no  man  wishes  to  be  sick — no 
man  would  shrink  from  a  remedy,  though  unpalatable.  Is 
it  so  in  cases  of  moral  distemper,  or  what  I  in  my  old- 
fashioned  phraseology  call  crimes  ?  Are  they  forced  to 
fall  ?  Who,  or  what  compels  them  ?  Have  they  no 
alternative  ?  or  are  they  free  agents,  and  if  so,  are  they 
not  responsible  ?  If  they  sin,  let  them  suffer.  If  they  are 


68  PRISON  DISCIPLINE. 

afflicted  with  the  moral  infirmity  of  loving  their  neighbor 
too  little,  and  his  property  too  much,  would  you  not  seek  a 
remedy  ?" 

"  My  first  care  would  be  that  the  remedy  was  not  worse 
than  the  disease.  My  second,  that  it  should  not  only  sup- 
press the  symptoms,  but  eradicate  the  cause.  But  I  do 
not  believe  that  vice  is  the  result  of  choice,  generally  speak- 
ing— many  men  enter  the  prison,  for  the  first  time,  either 
under  unjust  suspicion,  or  because  they  are  forced  into  the 
commission  of  crime  by  the  direst  necessity.  But  they  are 
not  the  only  criminals — the  only  moral  lepers  with  which 
society  is  afflicted — the  thief  and  the  burglar  may  steal 
your  property,  and  you  can  imprison  them  for  doing  so, 
but  what  punishment  can  you  inflict  upon  the  man  who 
slanders  you,  or  destroys  the  peace  of  your  family  ?  If  he 
is  rich,  his  wealth  stands  like  a  rampart  between  him  and 
the  law,  against  which  all  your  assaults  are  in  vain.  So- 
ciety does  not  regard  such  men  as  criminals,  yet  let  the 
poor  man  be  but  once  suspected,  and  he  is  disgraced  for- 
ever. He  is  thrown  into  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  a 
prison  ;  he  is  compelled  to  associate  with  men  who  are 
hardened  in  iniquity  ;  but  worse  than  all,  the  possibility 
of  crime  is  suggested  to  him,  and  the  next  time  he  enters 
the  prison  there  is  no  room  for  suspicion." 

"Proving  how  correct  the  first  estimate  of  the  man's 
character  had  been.  Do  you  really  believe  that  one  man, 


ERNEST  GREY.  69 

or  twenty  men  can  drive  another  into  crime  by  suspecting 
him  of  it  ?  Must  I  be  dishonest  because  you  are  sus- 
picious ?  Are  our  good  or  evil  deeds  only  the  reflex  of 
our  neighbor's  character  ?"  , 

Mr.  Clements  paused  in  triumph. 

"  Men  generally,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  "  square  their  con- 
duct with  their  reputation — it  is  not  what  they  would  wish 
to  do,  but  what  is  expected  of  them — that's  the  idea  by 
which  they  are  actuated.  I  know  some  natures  can  defy 
the  distrust  of  friends  and  the  force  of  example  ;  but  they 
are  few  in  number,  and  must  have  a  stronger  support  than 
morality,  however  exalted.  Deciduous  trees  are  more  com- 
mon than  evergreens." 

"Apropos  of  trees,  do  you  remember,  Hamilton,  what 
Carlyle  says  about  neglecting  the  wood  while  sound,  and 
searching  for  it  when  rotten,  to  fashion  it  into  something 
useful  r 

"  If  I  recollect  the  passage  aright,  it  is  intended  to  incite 
to  early  exertion,  and  not  for  the  purpose  of  ridiculing  any 
effort,  however  late.  However,  similies  are  poor  argu- 
ments. To  return  to  the  education  of  circumstances — does 
not  familiarity  with  danger  make  a  man  indifferent  to  it, 
and  familiarity  with  crime  lessen  his  abhorrence  of  it  ? 
The  gradations  have  been  well  defined — 

'  First  abhor,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 


70  PRISON   DISCIPLINE. 

Then  what  an  amount  of  responsibility  rests  upon  those 
who  familiarize  him  with  it — who  force  it  on  his  observa- 
tion— who  leave  him  no  escape.  After  the  convict  has 
been  discharged,  what  chance  has  he  ?  He  is  free,  to  be 
sure,  and  so  is  the  man  thrown  into  an  open  boat  on  the 
ocean,  but  who  is  to  encourage  or  help  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow  1"  said  Mr.  Clements,  "  excuse  me  for 
saying  that  that  is  very  excellent  philanthropic  nonsense  ; 
but  would  you  trust  one  of  those  discharged  convicts  with 
a  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"  Yes,  unhesitatingly.  But,  observe, — I  would  trust  him 
with  it,  not  throw  it  in  his  way.  He  should  understand 
he  was  trusted,  and  my  life  on  it,  not  one  in  a  hundred 
would  betray  a  trust  reposed  under  such  circumstances. 
But  do  not  imagine  that  I  would  abolish  punishment  for 
crime.  Imprison,  certainly,  but  do  not  drive  out  one 
disease  by  creating  another.  It  is  not  to  the  confinement 
I  object,  but  to  its  accessories.  One  attack  of  sickness 
does  not  make  a  man  an  invalid  for  life,  though  unskillful 
treatment  often  makes  the  disease  chronic.  Why  should 
one  fault  make  him  an  outcast  ?  If  there  be  not  a  recu- 
perative power  in  our  moral,  as  hi  our  physical  nature,  we 
ought  to  have  been  created  impeccable." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  "  '  that  virtue  is  not 
virtue  if  she  stumble.'  Why  don't  you  philanthropists 
take  up  the  cause  of  the  guiltless  poor  ?  Are  there  not 


ERNEST  GREY.  71 

thousands  of  women  struggling  for  a  precarious  livelihood 
in  this  city,  for  whom  you  might  exert  yourselves  ;  or  are 
your  sympathies  exclusively  for  the  vicious  ?" 

"There  are  many  evils  in  society  calling  loudly  for 
redress,"  replied  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  "  and  is  it  not  better  to 
take  up  even  the  least  of  these,  than  to  stand  idle  debating 
upon  their  order  of  precedence  ?" 

"You  are  perfectly  right,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  Mrs. 
Clements,  now  for  the  first  time  taking  part  in  the  discus- 
sion. "  You  remind  me  of  an  occurrence  that  took  place 
yesterday.  Agatha  had  a  tangled  skein  of  silk  to  unravel, 
and  she  lost  so  much  time  looking  for  the  right  end,  that  I 
told  her  to  take  any  end  she  could  get ;  and,  I  assure  you, 
if  she  had  not  done  so,  the  skein  would  have  been  unraveled 
yet." 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  madam,  for  your  admirable  illustra- 
tion," said  Mr.  Hamilton,  bowing  to  his  fair  ally.  "  Work 
with  an  earnest  will  must  accomplish  something.  Next 
century  will  look  back  on  our  treatment  of  prisoners,  as  we 
look  back  upon  the  rack,  the  dungeon,  and  the  pressing  to 
death." 

"  Oh  next  century,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  be  too  enlight- 
ened to  tolerate  that  relic  of  barbarism — a  prison,"  rejoined 
Mr.  Clements. 

"  Why  let  the  next  age  make  capital  out  of  us,"  said 


72  PKISON   DISCIPLINE. 

Mr.  Hamilton,  laughing.  "  Here  is  a  chance  to  get  ahead 
of  them,  if  we  chose." 

"  Oh,  George,  you  would  not  abolish  prisons,"  said  Mrs. 
Alworthy,  in  an  accent  of  indignant  terror. 

"  If  Mr.  Hamilton  could  do  as  he  pleases,  a  walk  hi 
Broadway  would  not  be  the  simple  thing  it  is  now,  Mrs. 
Alworthy.  You  would  meet  more  rogues  than  gentlemen 
— more  thieves  than  traders." 

"  Bless  me  !  how  dreadful  1  Really,  George,  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  holding  such  opinions." 

"  Give  up  your  clients,  Hamilton,"  said  Mr.  Clements  ; 
"  they  will  do  you  no  credit." 

"  But  can  I  do  them  good  ? — that's  the  question  an 
advocate  should  ask.  However,  I  may  give  up  the  sub- 
ject, for  it  is  one  upon  which  you  and  I  can  never  agree." 

"  Then  you  should  never  discuss  it,  George,"  said  Mrs. 
Alworthy- — "  that's  the  plan  I  adopted  with  Miss  Spencer, 
when  we  could  not  agree  about  the  shade  of  Mrs.  Syrns 
new  hat.  I  knew  it  was  the  real  imperial  purple — the 
genuine  Tyrian  dye,  and  she  insisted  that  it  was  wine  color 
— mere  wine  color." 

"It  is  of  very  little  consequence  what  color  Miss  Syms 
has  in  her  hat,  for  all  colors  are  equally  unbecoming  to 
her,"  said  Miss  Alworthy. 

"  Oh,  she  has  a  mind  superior  to  such  considerations, 
Letty,"  sneered  her  sister  ;  "  you  know  she  reads  noth- 


"MY    WIFE    AND    CHILD    ARE    STARVING,''     HE     ADDED    APOLC- 

cr.Tic ALLY,   "AND  I  CAN  DO  NorniNC,  FOR  THEM." 


ERNEST   GREY.  73 

ing  lighter  than  Schlegel,  and  sings  nothing  simpler  than 
the  soprano  solos  in  Puritani." 

"  I  can  certify  to  her  reading  the  fashions,"  said  Miss 
Clements  ;  "  and  I  verily  believe  I  have  heard  her  sing  a 
ballad." 

"  Dear  me  ;  what  condescension  !  It  is  all  in  keeping 
for  poor  me  to  do  such  things — but  a  literary  lady — only 
think  1" 

"  Is  Miss  Syms  a  literary  lady,  Helen  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Hamilton,  addressing  the  other  Miss  Alworthy. 

"  Yes,  of  the  deepest  dye.     Ain't  you  afraid  of  her  ?" 

"  No,  my  fair  cousin.  You  are  not  afraid  of  her,  and 
why  should  I  be  more  timid  than  you  ?" 

"  What  literary  lady  used  to  have  such  dirty  hands  T- 
inquired  Mrs.  Clements.  "  Oh,  yes — it  was  Lady  Mary 
Montague,  and  I  remember  thinking,  when  I  read  it,  that 
it  accounted  at  once  for  the  popular  prejudice.1' 

"  Against  dirty  hands,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  with  great 
gravity.  "  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  but 
for  my  part  I  think  that  prejudice  is  of  more  ancient 
date." 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Clements,  and 
you  should  not  affect  to  misunderstand  me." 

"  Very  likely,  my  dear.  But,  Miss  Alworthy,  what  are 
the  signs  and  tokens  by  which  I  can  recognize  a  literary 
lady  ?" 


74  PRISON   DISCIPLINE. 

"I  really  could  not  tell  you,  Mr.  Clements.  I  know 
them  by  a  kind  of  instinct." 

"  'Instinct  is  a  great  matter,'  certainly,  but  I  fear  mine 
is  not  so  acute  as  yours." 

"Then  they  are  always  reading,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of 
evident  disgust ;  "  I  wonder  what  is  the  use  of  reading 
about  what  they  did  in  Greece  and  Rome  centuries  ago. 
I'm  sure  it  would  be  a  great  deal  more  useful,  not  to  speak 
of  its  being  more  amusing,  to  read  the  descriptions  of  the 
latest  Paris  fashions,  or  an  invitation  to  a  ball,  or  the  list 
of  amusements  in  the  morning  papers.  But — speaking  of 
fashions  reminds  me  Of  Miss  North.  How  is  she  ?" 

"  Quite  well,"  replied  Agatha  ;  "  I  had  a  letter  from  her 
yesterday,  and  she  promises  to  come  down  next  week  and 
make  quite  a  long  visit." 

"  Ah, — indeed  !"  said  Miss  Letty  Alworthy, — "  that  is 
good  news  for  one  gentleman,  I  know.  Ain't  it,  George  ?" 

"  For  more  than  one,  I  presume,  Letty.  Miss  North  is 
universally  admired." 

"Emily  is  so  lively,"  remarked  Mrs.  Clements — "too 
much  so.  I  always  have  a  headache  when  she  is  in  the 
house  ;  but  if  I  said  so,  she  would  only  laugh  the  more." 
.  "  Ah,  mother,  how  can  you  say  so,"  said  Agatha — "  it  is 
delightful  to  have  her  in  the  house.  Robert  says  that  when 
she  is  with  us,  she  reminds  him  of  'sunshine  in  a  shady 
place/  and  he  always  calls  her  '  Sunshine.'  " 


ERNEST  GREY.  75 

"  I  have  no  doubt  George  thinks  so  too,"  replied  Miss 
Al worthy  ;  "  but  he  is  so  sly,  that  he  wouldn't  say  any- 
thing. However,  I  know  very  well ;  but  you  needn't  look 
so  frightened,  George,  I  don't  mean  to  tell." 

"  Tell  what  you  please,  Letty.  No  secrets  of  mine  are 
in  your  keeping." 

"  Are  they  not  ?  Well  then,  Miss  Clements,  he  is  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  your  cousin  Emily  !  What  do 
you  say  to  that  ?" 

"That  it  does  equal  credit  to  his  head  and  heart," 
said  Agatha,  imitating  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  public 
speaker. 

"  Young  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  breaking  up  a 
half-whispered  conversation  with  Mrs.  Clements,  and  ad- 
dressing her  daughters — "  do  you  forget  that  we  promised 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Spencer?  No — no — not  now,  my  dear 
?\Irs.  Clements — some  other  time,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  stay. 
Well,  good-bye  !" 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Clements,"  said  Helen. 

"  '  Parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow, 

That  I  could  say  good-bye  till  it  be  morrow.'  " 

"  Beware  of  the  purple  hat,  Mrs.  Alworthy,"  said  Mr. 
Clements,  in  a  warning  voice,  as  they  were  leaving  the 
door. 

"  Oh,  probably  Miss  Syms  1ms  got  a  new  one." 


76  PRISON   DISCIPLINE. 

"  No,  no — impossible  :  she  was  not  in  church  last  Sun- 
day." 

"  Then  she  certainly  has  not  got  one,"  said  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton, "  or  she  would  have  been  there.  Women  are  so  grate- 
ful for  blessings  of  that  kind,  that  they  invariably  go  to 
church  to  return  thanks  the  very  first  opportunity  ;  and  I 
have  always  observed  that  the  ardor  of  their  piety  is  in 
proportion  to  the  beauty  of  their  dress." 

"Miss  Syms  would  go  three  times  a  day,"  said  Miss 
Alworthy  ;  "  she's  always  religious  when  she's  well  dressed." 

"  Then  a  new  fashion  is  equal  to  a  revival,"  said  Mr. 
Clements,  "and  Parisian  Modistes  are  but  faithful  allies 
and  auxiliaries  of  religion." 

"Certainly,"  said  Agatha,  "who  could  be  religious  in  an 
old  hat,  or  who  would  mope  at  home  that  had  a  new  one. 
Besides,  nothing  but  sheer  selfishness  could  make  any  one 
satisfied  with  merely  having — they  should  '  suffer  themselves 
to  be  admired.' " 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Helen  Alworthy  ;  "  and  not  be 

like  a  friend  of  mine,  who  is  afraid  to  let  any  one  see  her 

• 
hats  or  her  dresses,  lest  they  might  get  the  same." 

"Miss  Clements,  do  you  know  Mrs.  Seymour  ?"  inquired 

Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  Yes  ;  very  well.     What  a  beautiful  woman  she  is  ?" 
"Well.,  my  friend  Seymour  says  that,  ever  since  their 

marriage,  she  has  been  subject  to  periodic  fits  of  piety,  and 


ERNEST  GREY.  77 

that  these  fits  are  simultaneous  with  the  changes  in  the 
fashions.  The  moment  a  new  style  of  hat  comes  in,  she  ,is 
seized  with  godliness,  and  must  to  church  three  times  a  day. 
But  now  he  is  beginning  to  understand  the  symptoms  of  the 
disease,  and  he  says  in  future  he  will  adopt  the  labor-saving 
plan,  and  in  place  of  going  to  church,  he  will  arrange  the 
hat  on  a  salver,  label  it  '  Mrs.  Seymour's  hat,'  send  it  to 
church,  and  have  it  placed  in  the  most  conspicuous  position. 
By  this  means  he  will  satisfy  his  wife,  spare  himself  a  fatigu- 
ing walk,  and  gain  a  triple  share  of  attention  and  notoriety 
for  the  article  on  exhibition." 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk,  George,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy. 
"  Really,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"  He  is  an  out-spoken  libeler,  ladies,"  said  Mr.  Clements ; 
"  but  deal  with  him  as  gently  as  you  can.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  George." 

The  ladies,  in  company  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  took  their 
departure,  and  proceeded  on  their  way  to  Mrs.  Spencer's, 
leaving  Mr.  Clements  to  meditate  on  the  events  of  that 
day, 


AKREST    OF    ERNEST    GREY THE    MOTHER    AND    CHILD. 

ERXEST  GREY  proceeded  to  his  work  next  morning,  so  occu- 
pied with  his  own  thoughts,  that  he  forgot  the  umbrella. 
Seeing  one  of  the  carpenters  at  work  brought  it  to  hia 
remembrance,  and  he  passed  over  to  make  inquiries  about 
Richard  Kane.  When  he  got  within  speaking  distance, 
the  carpenter  dropped  his  plane,  and  went  off  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Ernest  hailed  him,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Annoyed,  he  knew  not  why,  he  entered  the  warehouse,  ant) 
found  Mr.  Clements  in  close  conversation  with  a  police 
officer. 

"  That's  the  man,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  pointing  to  Grey. 

"You  are  arrested  for  having  stolen  fifty  dollars  from 
Mr.  Clements  office  last  night,"  said  the  officer,  in  an  ex- 
planatory tone. 

"  Stolen  !"  exclaimed  Ernest,  bewildered,  yet  indignant ; 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  lay  your  hands  on  me,  1 
warn  you.  Stolen  1  who  says  it  ?" 

"Mr.  Clements — your  employer." 


ERNEST   GREY.  79 

"  Mr.  Clements  !" 

Grey  could  scarcely  speak,  so  great  was  his  emotion,  for 
lie  saw  clearly  the  consequences  of  the  charge 

"  Mr.  Clements,  do  you  accuse  me  of  this  thing  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Clements,  coldly;  "but  if  von  are 
guiltless,  it  will  be  easy  to  clear  yourself  of  the  charge." 

"  What  right  have  you*to  believe  that  it  was  I  who  did 
it— why  not  suspect  him,  or  him  ?"  he  said,  pointing  to 
men  who  were  in  the  office. 

"  My  reason  for  accusing  you  will  be  made  known  at  the 
propev  time  and  place.  These  men  I  know." 

"  If  you  don't  know  me  well  enough  to  trust,  you  don't 
know  me  well  enough  to  suspect  me.  How  could  I  get  to 
your  money  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  discuss  the  question  now,"  said  Mr. 
Clements,  turning  away  abruptly.  "  Officer,  do  your  duty." 
,  "  Don't  lay  your  hands  on  me,  I  warn  you,"  said  Grey, 
passionately,  flinging  the  policeman  from  him  as  he  spoke. 

"  So  that's  your  dodge — you  want  to  escape — eh  !  You 
had  better  not  try  that  on  again,  mind  you — it  won't  do — 
I'm  wide  awake  for  you  !"  exclaimed  the  offended  official, 
grasping  him  tightly  by  the  collar,  and  beckoning  to 
another,  who  stood  outside,  to  assist  him. 

Thus  accompanied,  Grey  was  passed  through  the  streets, 
and  lodged  in  the  Tombs,  until  he  could  be  brought  up  for 
examination. 


80  THE   MOTHER   AND    CHILD. 

Bad  news  travels  quickly,  and  Jane  was  not  long  left  in 
ignorance  of  what  had  happened.  Who  could  do  justice 
to  the  feelings  of  the  wife  at  this  startling  announcement  ? 
All  she  had  endured — all  the  horrors  of  that  dreadful 
winter  were  nothing  compared  with  this — this  was  a  woe 
that  sympathy  might  aggravate,  but  could  not  soothe. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  go^o  him,  to  strengthen,  to 
console — to  make  his  mind  easy  about  her  and  Steve,  and 
to  tell  him  that  if  all  the  world  believed  him  guilty,  she  did 
not.  Like  a  true  woman,  strong  when  those  she  loved 
required  support,  she  felt  no  weakness — she  could  work — • 
oh,  Jane  !  Jane,  with  those  poor  weak  arms — yes,  she 
could  work — she  could  support  herself  and  Steve,  for  well 
she  knew  they  would  be  his  first  and  last  thought,  and  she 
could  make  him  comfortable  in  prison.  "When  such  were 
her  objects,  could  she  fail  ? 

With  a  strong  effort  she  repressed  her  tears,  and  made 
the  preparations  her  scanty  wardrobe  allowed.  But  when 
told  that  she  could  not  see  him  till  the  following  day,  her 
fortitude  gave  way,  and  flinging  herself  across  the  bed,  she 
v  gave  full  vent  to  her  tears.  How  long  she  remained  thus 
she  knew  not,  but  she  was  roused  at  last  by  Steve  striking 
against  the  door,  with  all  the  impotence  of  childish  passion, 
and  trying  to  get  in. 

"Mother,  come  here,"  he  said,  dragging  her  by  the 
sleeve  his  eyes  sparklinsr  through  the  tears  that,  as  they 


ERNEST  GREY.  81 

fell,  were  dried  up  on  the  burning-  cheek — <(  coine  here  and 
speak  to  Willy  Short.  He  is  calling  father  names  ;  he 
says  he's — a — a — "  and  poor  Steve,  after  trying  bravely, 
gave  way,  and  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 

She  drew  him  gently  in,  and  shut  the  door  ;  then  taking 
him  on  her  knee,  tried  to  soothe  ;  but  Steve,  like  a  child, 
the  more  he  was  comforteCPthe  more  he  cried. 

"There — there- -have  done  now.  That's  my  own  son. 
Be  a  good  boy." 

'Twas  useless. 

"  Oh,  Stevey  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  uncontrollable  out- 
burst of  grief, — "  won't  you  try  and  be  a  good  boy  while 
your  father  is  away  ?" 

The  reality  of  her  grief  awed  the  child,  and  he  remained 
quite  still,  looking  with  round-eye'd  wonder  at  the  big  drops 
that  forced  their  way  through  her  fingers.  He  had  never 
seen  her  cry  before,  for  Jane  was  a  wise  as  well  as  a  loving 
mother,  and  though  the  greater  part  of  the  child's  existence 
had  been  passed  amid  penury,  she  repressed  any  outward 
manifestation  of  grief  that  might  have  saddened  his  youth- 
ful mind.  But  now  the  one  great  sorrow  absorbed  her  to 
the  exclusion  of  every  other  idea — the  last  blow  dealt  by 
fortune  had  stunned  her  for  a  time,  and  Steve  was  almost 
forgotten.  Weep  on,  weep  on — better  the  rain  should  fall 
than  the  sky  be  always  clouded. 

After  watchincr  her  for  some  time  with  childish  amaze- 


82  THE   MOTHER   AND    CHILD. 

ment,  Steve  inserted  his  little  fingers  between  her  hands, 
and  strove,  with  gentle  violence,  to  part  them,  that  he 
might  see  her  face,  whispering  at  the  same  time — 

"  Steve  ain't  crying,  mamma — Steve  ain't  naughty." 

The  touch  of  those  small,  soft  hands — what  power  was 
in  them.  Dashing  away  the  tears  that  would  fall  of  their 
own  accord,  Jane  strained  the  child  to  her  heart,  kissed  the 
fair,  smooth  brow,  and  said — 

"  Yes,  darling  !  Steve  is  a  good  boy — it's  Steve's  mamma 
that's  naughty  to-day." 

And  Steve,  proud  of  his  mother's  approbation,  sat  by 
the  window,  quiet  as  a  mouse,  turning  over  in  his  busy 
little  head  the  events  of  the  morning,  in  his  endeavors  to 
discover  by  what  inexplicable  means  Willy  Short  had  got 
the  whip  hand  of  him. 

What  is  the  heroism  of  man  on  tented  field  or  foaming 
wave,  compared  to  the  quiet  courage  with  which  woman, 
solitary  and  alone,  sits  down,  face  to  face,  with  grief.  Oh 
dread  companionship  !  how  much  easier  is  heroism  in  action 
than  in  endurance.  If  Jane  could  have  sought  relief  in 
action,  her  grief  would  have  gradually  become  less  poig- 
nant ;  but  that  anodyne  was  denied  her.  With  severe 
self-accusation,  she  remembered  that  the  work  Lizzy  Ro- 
berts had  procured  for  her  would  be  required  to-niorrow, 
and  it  was  not  ready  yet.  Eagerly  she  sought  for  it,  as  if 
it  were  a  rampart  against  thought ;  but  the  work  that 


ERNEST   GREY.  83 

occupies  the  fingers  and  leaves  the  mind  free,  is  sorrow's 
staunchest  auxiliary.  Look  at  her  face  as  the  work  pro- 
ceeds, and  say,  has  it  lulled  thought  to  sleep  ?  No,  no — 
one  moment  she  flushes  crimson,  and  the  needle  passes 
through  the  fine  linen  quick  as  lightning  ;  but  the  next  she 
shivers,  as  if  with  cold,  and  her  hands  fall  listlessly  upon 
her  knees — that  work  has  not  banished  thought. 

"  Say,  mother,"  said  Steve,  "  where  did  *you  buy  my 
coat — this  ne'.v  coat" — the  one  made  from  his  mother's 
cloak. 

"  I  didn't  buy  it,  Steve." 

"  You  didn't  buy  it  I"  repeated  the  child.  "  You  did— 
I  know  you  did.  Willy  Short  says  you  stole  it ;  but  1 
know  better,  and  I  knocked  him  down,  too,"  said  Steve, 
triumphantly. 

Jane  winced.  The  child's  simple  words  made  her,  for 
the  first  time,  realize  the  full  sense  of  their  disgrace — even 
children  were  cognizant  of  it. 

With  a  heavy  sigh  Mrs.  Grey  put  aside  her  work,  and 
sat  down  by  the  child. 

"  My  son,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  you  must  not  knock  any 
of  the  boys  down,  or  quarrel  with  them.  If  you  do,  they 
won't  let  you  play  with  them." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Steve,  doggedly.  "  I  don't  want  to 
play  with  them.  Willy  Short  told  all  the  boys  not  to  play 
with  me,  or  I'd  steal  their  marbles." 


84  THE   MOTHER   AND    CHILD. 

"  My  poor  boy !  my  poor  Steve !"  said  his  mother, 
deeply  affected  and  kissing  him  fondly; — "they  didn't 
believe  him." 

"  Yes  they  did,"  replied  Steve,  with  strange  bitterness 
for  one  so  young.  "  I  know  they  did,  for  they  grabbed  up 
their  marbles  as  fast  as  anything,  and  then  I  knocked  him 
down,  and  then  he  said  my  father  was  a  thief." 

"  Hush  !"  said  Jane,  inexpressibly  shocked,  and  putting 
her  hand,  across  the  child's  mouth.  "  Oh,  Steve,  how  could 
you  say  that  !" 

If  there  is  one  thing  harder  to  bear  than  another,  it  is 
censure  where  we  expect  praise,  and  this  was  Stephen 
Grey's  case  at  that  moment.  The  childish  spirit  that  had 
so  fiercely  resented  insult,  shrunk  from  his  mother's  sorrow- 
ful rebuke.  His  eyes  filled,  his  lips  quivered,  and  worn  out 
by  the  first  excess  of  emotion,  he  cried  himself  to  sleep. 

Even  in  that  moment  of  sorrow,  Mrs.  Grey  felt  a  thrill 
of  maternal  pride,  as  she  looked  upon  her  sleeping  child. 
The  bright  brown  hair,  which  it  was  her  pride  and  pleasure 
to  keep  smooth  and  glossy,  fell  in  confusion  on  the  fair 
forehead  ;  tear  drops  were  quivering  on  the  long  eye- 
lashes ;  and  emotion  had  imparted  a  brilliancy  to  the  full 
round  cheeks,  that  rivalled  the  rich  cherry  color  of  the 
pouting  lips.  Long  and  earnestly  she  gazed,  scanning 
every  feature  with  fond  yet  melancholy  admiration,  think- 
ing all  the  while  with  Constance  that — 


ERNEST  GEEY.  85 

"  Since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child, 
To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire, 
There  was  not  such  a  gracious  creature  born." 

She  laid  him  gently  on  the  bed,  and  re-commenced  her 
sewing,  striving,  with  an  earnestness  that  insured  success, 
to  compose  her  mind,  and  arrange  her  r)lans  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER   X, 

ERNEST   GREY   IX    PRISON A    WORLD    WITHIN   THE    WORLD 

AN    EXECUTION. 

ERXEST  GREY  had  been  thrust  into  the  common  prison, 
where  boys  and  men  of  every  age,  from  twelve  to  sixty, 
were  grouped  together, — pickpockets,  thieves,  burglars, 
swindlers,  forgers — recounting  their  exploits,  and  boasting 
of  their  adroitness  in  eluding  detection,  and  the  number  of 
times  they  had  foiled  the  police.  Ribald  jests  and  obscene 
stories,  the  light  artillery  of  vice,  went  flying  through  the 
room,  until  shame,  virtue's  frailest,  last  defense,  was  broken 
down,  and  many  a  cheek  that  had  that  morning  blushed  at 
the  idea  of  disgrace,  blushed,  for  the  last  time,  a  shade 
deeper  at  the  recollection.  Intentions,  resolutions,  aspira- 
tions, that  under  favorable  circumstances  might  have  borne 
fruit,  withered  in  the  noisome  atmosphere  of  that  hot-bed 
of  crime.  There  the  tyro  learned  to  glory  in  his  calling — 
learned  that  there  was  a  world  within  the  world,  before, 
unknown  to  him,  governed  by  its  own  codes,  where  he  could 
gain  renown  and  where  the  gradations  were  as  nicely 


ERNEST   GREY.  87 

marked  as  uncier  a  European  monarchy.  Yet  amid  the 
sickening  bravado  of  vaunting  vice,  the  pride  of  proficiency, 
the  boast  of  superior  skill,  would  come  contemptuous  allu- 
sions to  the  past,  when  they  were  "  green,"  in  tones  that 
betrayed  the  existence  of  a  feeling  they  would  blush,  to 
•  own,  even  to  themselves. 

Grey  was  received  with  a  boisterous  welcome,  and  in- 
quiries on  all  sides  as  to  what  he  had  done.  They  de- 
manded of  him  his  ticket  of  admission,  and  desired  to  know 
what  recommendations  he  brought  with  him  to  entitle  him 
to  recognition  in  such  society. 

"  Ha  !  my  tulip,"  said  one  who  was  evidently  looked  up 
to  by  the  rest  as  the  leading  spirit, — "  what  have  you  been 
about  ?  What  did  you  touch  ?" 

"  Nothing,  so  help  me  heaven,"  he  replied,  earnestly  ; 
for  he  could  not  bear  that  even  these,  from  whose  com- 
panionship he  involuntarily  shrank,  should  deem  him 
guilty. 

A  burst  of  derisive  laughter"  announced  their  incredidity. 
"  Good  !  Good  !  That's  it !  Go  in  !  You'll  do,  old 
feller  ;"  and  similar  phrases  greeted  him  on  every  side. 

"Well,  you  are  a  cunning  shaver — that's  a  fact — to 
come  to  your  time  of  day  without  being  fetched,"  exclaimed 
another,  in  tones  of  unfeigned  admiration.  "  How  did 
you  get  jugged? — for  taking  a  loan — eh?  What's  the 
amount  ?" 


88  A   WOKLD   WITHIN   THE  WORLD. 

"  Not  a  cent  of  any  man's  money  that  I  did  not  honestly 
earn,"  was  the  indignant  reply. 

"  More  fool  you,"  said  his  questioner,  turning  on  his  heel 
in  unmistakeable  contempt—"  you  might  as  well  have  the 
gain  as  the  name." 

"  The  first  time  I  was  in  one  of  these  establishments," 
said  another,  "about — let  me  see — I  was  just  eighteen 
then — about  forty  years  ago,  I  acted  persactly  like  him." 

"  You  did  ?    Well  1"  exclaimed  several. 

"  But  what  was  you  up  for  ?"  inquired  one 

"  Only  a  trifle — some  little  matter  in  Pearl  street— just 
beginning,  you  know — twenty  dollars — and  what  do  you 
think — the  mean  cuss  prosecuted,  although  he  got  every 
red  back.  Only  for  him  I  might  have  been  in  the  Common 
Council ;  but  that  spoiled  my  character — people  are  so 
narrow-minded." 

This  sally  of  wit  was  greeted  with  a  round  of  applause, 
and  peals  of  uproarious  laughter. 

"  Was  that  your  first  go,  Bill  ?"  asked  %  precocious 
youth  of  fifteen. 

"  No  sirree — nor  my  second  ;  but  that  was  the  first  time 
I  ever  laid  my  peepers  on  Dick  Lightfinger.  You  all  know 
Dick.  Well,  he  was  a-settin  right  opposite  me,  and  cryin 
like  a  blubberin'  baby.  He  was  persactly  eight  years 
younger  than  me,  so  I  went  over  and  talked  to  him." 

"  Ten  years  old  !     Well,  I'll  be  blowed  !  but  that  was  a 


ERNEST  GREY.  89 

smart  feller,  and  no  mistake,"  interposed  one  of  the  eager 
listeners.  "  No  wonder  he's  so  advanced  in  his  purfessiou. 
Ten  years  old  !" 

"  Smart  feller  !  Don't  you  believe  it.  He  hadn't 
touched  anything,  I  tell  you.  He  was  uo  smarter  than 
any  body  else  ;  but  he  had  advantages.  Smart  feller, 
indeed  I  Very  well ;  who  gave  him  his  education — eh  ? 
I  did  ;  that  night  made  a  man  of  him." 

"  But  how  did  he  get  pulled,  Bill  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see  how  it  was,  was  this  ;"  and  he  proceeded 
to  tell  how  Dick,  then  a  promising  school-boy,  returning 
home,  saw  two  men  fighting  ;  how  one^of  them  was  taken 
by  a  policeman,  to  whom  Dick  gave  a  clear  account  of  what 
had  passed  ;  how  he  was  put  in  prison  as  a  witness,  and 
thus  thrown  in  the  way  of  one  who  was  already  familiar 
with  crime.  The  acquaintance  there  formed  was  continued, 
and  resulted  in  the  pupil  surpassing  his  instructor  in  inge- 
nuity, if  not  in  wickedness. 

To  Ernestf  Grey  there  was  a  horrible  fascination  in  the 
story  of  the  innocent  boy  thus  unconsciously  innoculated 
with  crime,  and  as  the  hoary  ruffian  concluded  by  saying, 
with  a  chuckle — "  Ever  since,  when  Fm  hard  up  for  green 
hands,  I  get  in  here,  and  take  my  pick  and  choice  out  of 
the  recruits  the  law  purwides  for  me" — he  thought  of  his 
own  child,  his  pretty,  willful  Steve,  and  groaned  aloud. 
But  his  interest  had  been  painfully  excited,  and  he  listened 


r 

90  A  WORLD   WITHIN   THE  WORLD. 

intently  to  the  stories  passing  around.  They  were  generally 
of  daring  robberies,  or  hair-breadth  escapes,  related  with 
coarse  humor  and  strong  dramatic  power  ;  and  when,  by 
these  means,  he  found  his  sympathies  enlisted  on  the  side 
of  a  desperate  burglar,  or  fugitive  thief,  he  knew  better 
how  to  estimate  the  strength  of  that  temptation  which  had 
been  so  fatal  to  Dick  Lightfinger. 

"  Say,  Bob  !"  roared  a  stentorian  voice  from  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  room — "  What  happened  to  that  ere  soft  un 
yon  brought  last-  year  ?  What  a  precious  soft  tfn  he  was — 
the  white-livered  dog !" 

"  Come,  old  feller  ! — play  light  there,"  cried  Bob,  "white- 
livered  he  was  not — I  know  he  was  squeamish  about  blood- 
lettin',  that's  all.  That  was  his  weakness,  and  I'd  bet  five 
dollars  to  a  cent  he's  grown  out  of  it  by  this  time,  for  he 
went  to  California  after  that." 

"  Well,  you  may  say  what  you  like,  but  he  was  a  sneak, 
and  I  had  a  kind  o'  doubt  of  him  from  the  first." 

"  D n  your  doubts — who  cares  for  you  ?  I  say  he 

was  neither  a  sneak  nor  a  coward  ;  and  I  won't  stand  and 

hear  him  run  down — mind  that.  I'd  a  d d  sight  sooner 

have  him  with  me  in  a  fight  than  you,  any  day — though 
you  do  think  yourself  some." 

"  How  easy  riled  you  are,"  said  the  other,  apologetically 
— "  what  did  he  ever  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Only  saved  my  life,  but  that's  nothinV 


ERNEST  GREY.  91 

He  did— eh  !     Ho\v  was  that  ?" 

"  Well,  it  was  the  very  night  after  that  affair  in  Four- 
teenth street.  I  was  walking  down  Leonard." 

"  What  about  Fourteenth  street  ?"  inquired  several — 
"  that  conies  first." 

"  D n  it !  why  don't  you  let  a  feller  finish  what  he's 

savin',  and  not  be  interruptin'  him  all  the  time.  I  shan't 
say  another  word  to-night." 

He  was  entreated  on  all  sides  to  finish  his  story,  but 
entreaties  were  useless — for  the  rest  of  the  night  he  was 
sullenly  silent.  However,  professional  anecdotes  were 
plenty,  each  one  surpassing  the  other  in  excitement.  In 
the  middle  of  one  of  these  stories,  when  the  interest  was  at 
its  height,  and  the  attention  of  the  listeners  most  profound, 
the  sound  of  heavy  hammers  inside  the  prison  walls  made 
them  pause.  Again  and  again  they  heard  it,  stroke  fol- 
lowing stroke  in  quick  succession. 

"They  are  tolling  poor  Slype's  death-bell,"  remarked 
one,  with  a  callous  laugh.  "The  funeral  procession  will 
start  to-morrow  at  one  o'clock  ;  and  I  move  that,  in  ordei 
to  testify  our  respect  for  the  deceased,  we  all  attend." 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  die  game  ?"  asked  another. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he'll  stand  up  to  the  rack."^ 

"  I  don't  believe  it — he'll  show  the  white  feather.  He 
ain't  got  the  pluck,  I  tell  yer." 

"  I'll  bet  a  V  he'll  die  worthy  of  the  purfession." 


92  AN   EXECUTION. 

"  Done  ! — we'll  see  before  tins  time  to-morrow." 

The  next  morning  there  was  great  excitement  among  the 
prisoners,  which  increased  as  the  hour  of  execution  drew 
near.  Outside,  the  excitement  was  still  greater  ;  from  an 
early  hour  the  prison  gates  were  besieged  by  anxious 
crowds,  eager  to  obtain  admittance  ;  and  every  street  lead- 
ing to  the  prison  was  thronged  with  persons,  who  deemed 
it  a  privilege  even  to  gaze  upon  the  building  within  whose 
walls  the  dread  tragedy  was  to  be  enacted.  All  the  house- 
tops in  the  immediate  neighborhood  were  crowded  with 
spectators,  among  whom  were  men  who  would  stigmatize 
the  Spaniards  as  barbarians  for  patronizing  bull-fights,  and 
women  who  would  sicken  at  the  sight  of  blood,  and  shudder 
at  a  tale  of  terror. 

Every  available  spot  within  the  prison-yard  was  filled 
long  before  the  appointed  time,  and  as  the  hour  approached, 
the  eager  spectators  testified,  by  their  frequent  reference  to 
their  watches,  their  impatience  at  the  delay. 

"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  to  come  off  at  one  o'clock,"  said 
one,  both  disgusted  and  indignant  at  the  tardiness  of  the 
officials. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  replied  his  friend,  "  these  things  can't 
be  done  up  in  a  hurry." 

"  Was  you  at  the  jerkin'  of  Black  Tom  ?"  inquired  the 
first  speaker. 


ERNEST  GREY.  93 

"  No  ;  but  I'm  told  it  was  as  handsome  a  sight  5s  you'd 
wish  to  see." 

"  Handsome  !  I  tell  yer  it  was  beautiful.  I  never  see'd 
a  feller  as  died  so  beautiful,  and  that's  sayin'  a  great  deal, 
for  I've  seen  a  good  many  strung  up  in  my  day.  You 
know,  Jake,  I  always  was  an  amatoor  in  such  things." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that's  a  fact,  Jim  ;"  said  his  companion,  ad- 
miringly. 

In  the  cell  where  Ernest  Grey  was  confined,  the  prisoners 
were  busy  making  their  preparations  for  the  spectacle. 
The  apertures,  which  served  them  for  the  purposes  of  light 
and  ventilation,  were  not  sufficiently  large  to  give  them  a 
view  of  what  was  passing  below,  but  their  ingenuity  soon 
overcame  this  obstacle. 

"  Say,  Bob,  you  was  always  a  fancy  man — some  on  the 
putty — don't  you  think  you  could  raise  a  glass  now,  till  we 
get  a  peep  at  the  show  ?  You  hain't — eh  !  "Well,  have 
you  got  one,  my  beauty?"  he  again  inquired,  addressing 
the  most  repulsive  looking  man  in  the  room. 

"  Look  out  for  your  own  handsome  mug,  you  sniggering 
cub,  you,  or  I'll  spoil  your  beauty,"  exclaimed  the  other, 
fiercely,  irritated  at  the  general  laugh  against  him. 

"  Come,  simmer  down  !"  said  Bill,  authoritatively — 
"  Simmer  down,  I  say — we  don't  want  any  fighting  among 
friends.  Can't  you  raise  a  looking-glass  among  you  ?  and 
I'll  tell  what's  going  on." 


94  AN   EXECUTION. 

A  pocket-glass  was  soon  procured,  and  after  it  was  taken 
from  its  case,  fitted  into  the  end  of  a  stick  which  was  split 
for  the  purpose.  It  was  then  held  out  of  the  opening,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  reflect  the  scene  below. 

"  I'd  rather  than  a  ten  I  was  outside,"  said  Bill ;  "  there's 
considerable  prigging  to  be  done  now.  What  a  chance 
we've  lost.  Ha  !  Slype  has  made  his  first  appearance  on 
the  stage,"  he  shouted,  in  wild  excitement,  almost  dropping 
the  stick  from  his  grasp.  "  Don't  he  look  game,  though." 

"  Let  us  see — let  us  see  !"  they  cried  in  chorus,  each 
eagerly  clutching  at  the  stick. 

"Hold  up  there  !  D— — n  it,  what  are  you  about — I've 
nearly  lost  it  already  with  you,  and  if  it's  gone,  our  sport's 
spoiled.  The  first  man  that  does  that  again  I'll  throw  it 
among  the  crowd." 

This  threat  had  the  desired  effect — the  mutiny  was  sup- 
pressed, and  Bill  left  in  undisturbed  possession. 

"  What  are  they  doing  now  ?"  inquired  one  of  the  pris- 
oners, with  horrid  interest. 

"Praying,"  replied  Bill,  turning  up  the  whites  of  his 
eyes.  ".After  praying  a  bit  they'll  run  him  up  and  give 
him  a  dance  from  the  tight  rope,"  added  Bill,  laughing  at 
the  coarse  joke  he  had  perpetrated. 

An  indistinct  murmuring  sound  penetrated  the  walls  of 
the  prison  as  the  rope  was  severed,  and  the  wretched  man 
struggled  in  the  agonies  of  death. 


ERNEST  GREY.  95 

"  Slype  s  a  goner  !"  exclaimed  several,  all  at  once. 

"  Well,  there's  no  help  for  spilk-d  milk,"  said  Bill ;  "  it's 
his  turn  to-day,  and  it  may  be  ours  to-morrow.  After  all, 
what  is  it  but  a  jump  in  the  dark.  Twenty  years  ago 
Slype  and  me  began  our  pnrfession  under  the  scaffold — the 
very  day  that  Nicksey  was  run  up.  Lord  !  what  a  smart 
feller  he  was.  He  wriggled  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
like  an  eel  through  the  mud.  He  was  a  good  feller  'too, 
and  his  heart  was  as  big  as  a  bull's,  and  even  when  he  was 
going  €he  wanted  to  help  his  friends.  And  now  here  I  am 
boxed  up — regularly  queyed,  and  can't  take  advantage  of 
it,  while  many  a  feller,  that  didn't  care  a  cent  about 
Slype,  is  doin'  a  smnshin'  business  out  there  on  my  capital." 

"  There  they  go,"  said  another,  as  the  heavy  tramp  of 
the  Retiring  crowd  was  heard.  "I  suppose  he's  quiet 
enough  now,  for  they  wouldn't  move  while  there  was  a  kick 
in  him." 

"  If  there  ain't  a  kick  in  him,  there's  a  kick  in  his  gallop," 
remarked  another,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  body  was  cut  down  and  laid  in  a 
rough  pine  coffin  ;  and  the  crowd,  which  had  been  gradu- 
ally dispersing  from  the  moment  all  signs  of  life  had  ceased, 
completely  deserted  the  prison-yard.  In  and  around  the 
prison  everything  went  on  as  before  ;  but  on  the  street- 
corners  boys  were  rehearsing  the  revolting  tragedy,  and  iu 
the  groggeries  and  saloons  it  formed  the  all-absorbing  topic 


96  AN   EXECUTION. 

of  conversation.  For  weeks  after  the  fearful  brute,  cour- 
age and  stoicism,  with  which  he  met  his  death,  were  the 
theme  of  unbounded  eulogy  among  those  who  regarded 
such  qualities  as  the  only  proofs  of  true  heroism,  in  their 
admiration  of  these,  all  recollection  of  the  crime  for  which 
he  suffered  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

DISAPPOINTMENTS OUGHT   TO    BE    CONTENT. 

EVERY  day  Lizzy  Roberts'  affection  and  admiration  for 
Margaret  increased,  and  she  felt  thankful  for  the  chance 
that  had  thrown  such  a  friend  in  her  path,  particularly  at 
a  time  when  the  loss  of  Ernest  Grey's  family  made  her  feel 
more  lonely  and  desolate  than  ever.  It  was  so  different 
from  sitting  alone — it  was  so  pleasant  to  hear  the  sound  of 
a  human  voice,  although  it  discoursed  of  no  higher  themes 
than  the  mystery  of  shirt-making,  or  the  comparative 
merits  of  rival  establishments.  But  their  conversation  was 
not  confined  to  these  vital  matters,  for  Margaret  had  read 
much,  and  she  was  pleased  to  share  her  knowledge  with 
Lizzy,  to  repeat  to  her  passages  from  favorite  authors,  and 
tell  her  all  she  knew.  Ernest  Grey's  fate,  however,  was  of 
deeper  interest  to  both,  and  engaged  more  of  their  atten- 
tion, than  all  other  subjects  combined. 

"  Why  wouldn't  you  call  to  the  prison  to  see  him,"  said 
Margaret,  in  the  course  of  one  of  these  conversations,  "  and 
learn  from  him  where  his  wife  is  ?  Of  course  he  knows." 


98  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

"  Oh  !  how  glad  I  am  you  thought  of  that,"  cried  Lizzy, 
delighted  at  the  idea  of  finding  Steve  and  his  mother  ; 
"  that's  the  very  thing  I  ought  to  do." 

The  next  day  Lizzy  went  to  the  prison,  impatient  to 
receive  tidings  of  her  friend,  and  angry  with  herself  for  not 
having  thought  of  such  a  feasible  plan  before.  But  alas 
for  human  hopes  !  she  was  doomed  to  a  cruel  disappoint- 
ment :  as  she  was  not  a  relative  of  the  prisoner,  she  would 
not  be  permitted  to  see  or  converse  with  him,  and  so  she 
was  obliged  to  relinquish  the  pleasing  hope  of  finding  Mrs. 
Grey. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  up  so  easily,"  said  Margaret,  when  she 
had  heard  all ;  "I  would  wait  about  the  prison  during  the 
uours  set  apart  for  the  prisoners'  friends  to  visit  them,  and 
you'd  be  sure  to  see  Mrs.  Grey." 

Lizzy  caught  eagerly  at  the  suggestion,  and  for  three 
days  consecutively  she  waited  at  the  prison  doors,  from 
twelve  o'clock  till  three.  But  no  Mrs,  Grey  appeared,  and 
the  third  day  she  returned  utterly  discouraged. 

"  Tell  me,  Liz — do  you  ever  feel  discontented  ?"  said 
Margaret,  laying  down  her  work  and  looking  scrutinizingly 
into  her  face. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do  very  often,  Margaret,  when  I  let  my 
thoughts  stray  to  the  past  or  the  future." 

"  '  We  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not,'  " 


ERNEST  GREY.  99 

said  Margaret,  quietly — "How  very  true.  It  is  not  in 
human  nature  to  be  contented.  We  were  never  made  to 
be  contented  on  this  earth.  The  'most  perfect  Christian 
longs  for  the  future,  and  sighs  over  the  past.  Do  you 
think  you  ought  to  be  contented  ?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Margaret.  Do  yon  mean, 
ought  I  to  be  contented  with  my  lot, — or  ought  I  to  be 
contented  with  myself,  and  I  so  imperfect  ?" 

"  Pshaw  1  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind — you  are  quite 
perfect  enough  for  me.  But  do  you  think  you  ought  to  be 
contented  with  your  lot  ?" 

The  puzzled  expression  on  Lizzy's  face  was  gone  in  a 
moment,  and  she  answered  in  all  sincerity — 

"  Why,  of  course  I  ought." 

"  Ah^Liz,  Liz,"  said  Margaret,  shaking  her  head  ;  "  if 
I  were  like  you  I  might  be  happier,  but  that  can  never  be. 
I  cannot  take  things  as  they  are,  without  asking  the  why 
and  the  wherefore — two  questions  that  might  sober  Demo- 
critus  himself.  Do  you  think-  Providence  ever  intended 
you  to  sit  and  sew  eighteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  ?" 

"  Certainly,  or  I  would  not  have  it  to  do." 

"  What !  Liz — you  believe  that  yon  were  born  to  stitch 
so  many  yards,  make  so  many  button  holes,  run  so  many 
shirt  bosoms,  and  for  no  higher  purpose  ?'' 

"  Oh  !  Margaret,  no — I  did  not  say  so,"  said  Lizzy, 
quickly — "  I  know  that  all  of  us,  no  matter  what  our  occu- 


100  OUGHT  TO   BE   CONTENT. 

pation  here,  have  to  look  beyond  this  earth — that  is  but 
the  passage  way." 

"  Yes  ;  and  how  many  go  through  it  without  one  thought 
of  where  it  leads  to,  only  intent  on  picking  up  the  worthless 
pebbles  scattered  along  the  route.  But  to  return — what 
were  you  thinking  about  when  I  spoke  first  ?  Own  up, 
Liz." 

"  You  will  think  little  of  me,"  she  replied  ;  "I  was 
thinking  I  might  get  these  collars  done  to-night  if  I  worked 
steady,' — and  that  would  be  so  much  on  my  book." 

"  You  groveling  Liz  !  I  knew  it ; — and  still  you  cry 
we  ought  to  be  content  with  a  state  of  things  which  forces 
us  to  make  gain  our  first  consideration.  Now,  you  have 
lived  in  the  country — you  know  what  we  poor  girls  are 
deprived  of  that  live  up  in  attics,  or  down  in  basements,  or 
behind-back  in  rear  houses,  '  curtained  from  the  sight  of  the 
gross  world.'  How  can  you,  even  in  thought,  make  Provi- 
dence responsible  for  all  this  wrong  !  Don't  look  aghast, 
Liz.  You  can't  deny  it — ' ought  to  be  content'  means 
that,  or  it  means  nothing.  If  it  is  not  the  work  or  the 
will  of  Providence,  why  ought  I  to  be  contented  with  it  ?" 

"  Margaret,  you  talk  so  wild,"  said  Lizzy,  in  a  tone  of 
gentle  reproach  ;  "  it  was  but  this  morning  I  heard  you 
say,  '  whatever  is,  is  right.' " 

"  Oh  that  abused,  misused  quotation  ! — have  I,  too, 
sinned  against  it  ?"  exclaimed  Margaret,  between  jest  and 


ERNEST   GREY.  101 

earnest.     "  But,  Liz,  it  is  treacherous  and  ungenerous  to 
turn  my  own  weapons  against  me." 

"  Margaret,"  said  Lizzy,  suddenly,  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  a 
hypocrite." 

"  I  ?"  said  Margaret,  reddening. 

"  What  is  hypocrisy  ?"  asked  Liz. 

"  Appearing  in  a  false  character." 

"  Then  you  are  a  sad  hypocrite,  beyond  a  doubt.  You 
have  such  an  ambition  'to  appear  worse  than  you  are,  and 
I  think  that  is  the  worst  kind  of  hypocrisy,  dear  Margaret, 
for  it  looks  as  if  you  were  ashamed  of  being  good.  You 
mustn't  take  offence  at  what  I've  been  saying  : — I  wouldn't 
have  said  it,  only  I  know  you  are  not  easily  miffed." 

"  And  if  I  were  easily  miffed,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  if  I 
packed  up  my  things  and  left,  would  you  not  say  '  whatever 
is,  is  right  ?' " 

"  You  know  I  would  not." 

"Then  what  becomes  of  your  ' ought  to  be  content,' 
Liz  ?" 

"I'm  afraid,  Margaret,  I'd  forget  all  about  it  then. 
Hush  !  I  think  my  mother  is  awake." 

"  No  ;  she's  sleeping  soundly." 

"  How  I  wish  she  had  a  soft  bed — she  lays  so  constantly 
that  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  the  slats  cut  her  sides.  Ah  ! 
Margaret,  when  I  look  at  this  miserable  place,  and  think 
of  her  and  of  what  money  would  do •" 


102  OUGHT  TO    BE    CONTENT. 

She  stopped  abruptly,  a  large  round  tear  fell  upon  the 
linen,  but  in  a  few  moments  she  continued  with  forced 
cheerfulness — 

"  I  know  it  is  sinful  to  be  repining,  when  the  worst  is  so 
much  better  than  we  deserve  ;  and  when  we  see  how  many 
are  worse  off  than  we  are,  we  ought  to  be  contented." 

"  That  argument  always  strikes  me  as  the  most  selfish 
that  could  be  given,"  said  Margaret,  warmly  ;  "I  hate  to 
hear  it :  it  is  the  very  essence  of  selfishness.  As  if  I  said 
'  thank  God  !  if  I  am  poor  —others  are  poorer.  If  I  am  sick 
— others  are  dying.'  If  there  were  a  common  brotherhood 
among  us,  that  would  be  only  an  aggravation  of  our  suf- 
fering. Does  it  comfort  me,  Liz,  to  think,  while  I  sit 
wearing  my  eyes  out  here  in  this  garret,  that  there  are 
thousands  of  young  girls  in  this  city  no  better  off  than  I — 
thousands  who  for  weeks  never  see  the  sun  rise,  though  up 
before  him — thousands  whose  only  thought  of  the  moon- 
light and  starlight  is  that  they  are  not  bright  enough  to 
work  by — who  know  nothing  of  the  seasons  but  by  the 
change  in  the  weather,  and  who  cannot  take  time  to  look 
at  that  patch  of  blue  above  their  loophole  of  a  window, 
even  if  the  stateliest  cloud  was  sailing  by.  Does  that  com- 
fort me  any  ?  Does  it  prove  that  I  ought  to  be  contented 
with  a  state  of  things  that  God  never  ordained,  never  sanc- 
tioned, and  barely  endures  ?  No,  Liz  ;  when  I  want  to 
school  my  heart  to  bear,  it  is  not  the  Hall  of  Eblis,  but 


ERNEST   GREY.  103 

the  Happy  Yalley  I  look  upon,  and  I  think  if  the  world  is 
a  desert  to  me,  it  is  an  oasis  to  others — if  I  am  favored 
but  once  a  year  with  a  broken  '  hint  that  nature  lives,'  tens 
of  thousands  hear  it  in  her  own  sweet  voice,  or  read  it  in 
her  glowing  face." 

"  How  selfish  you  must  think  me,  Margaret,"  said  Lizzy, 
with  an  appealing  look  and  deprecating  tone  that  no  one 
could  resist,  her  soft  blue  eyes  swimming  in  tears — "  how 
very  selfish.  And,  indeed,  I  think  I  must  be,  for  yester- 
day, when  the  sun  shone  for  a  moment  into  the  window,  I 
thought  of  the  country,  until  I  fancied  I  heard  the  rustling 
of  the  corn,  and  got  the  scent  of  the  apple-blossoms  ;  and, 
oh  Margaret !  when  I  recollected  where  I  was,  I  felt  so 
bad,  until  I  looked  at  you  sewing  so  steady,  and  at  mother 
laying  so  still." 

"  And  that  contented  you,  Liz." 

"  It  made  me  more  contented  and  more  discontented  at 
the  same  time.  You  understand  me." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Margaret ;  and  both  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 

It  was  a  clear,  frosty  day,  the  air  cold  and  bracing,  and 
the  merry  jingle  of  the  sleigh-bells  was  distinctly  audible. 
Perhaps  they  heard  it — perhaps  they  did  not ;  but  they 
sewed  on  the  same.  The  din  and  tumult  ascended,  mel- 
lowed into  a  murmur  ;  the  full,  rich  tones  of  military  music, 
sinking  and  swelling  like  the  waves  of  ocean,  swept  past,  a 


104  OUGHT   TO   BE    CONTENT. 

perfect  spring-tide  of  harmony  ;  but  they  heeded  it  not — 
stitch  followed  stitch,  tnough  the  tips  of  those  restless 
fingers  were  blue  with  the  cold,  until  the  needles  dropped 
from  their  powerless  grasp. 

Outside,  what  a  busy  world  it  was — and  gay  as  it  was 
busy.  Men  sublimely  indifferent  to  Eternity,  but  frantic  at 
the  loss  of  one  moment  of  Time,  stood  watching  their  oppor- 
tunity to  pass  the  crowded  thoroughfares  ;  others  skilled  in 
street  tactics  darted  across  in  face  of  every  obstacle,  and 
gained  the  curb-stone  with  an  exulting  bound,  or  worked 
their  way  through  lumbering  carts  and  stranded  omnibus, 
and  passed  the  Rubicon  by  a  circuitous  route.  Ladies,  in 
rich  dresses  and  costly  furs,  passed  and  repassed,  or  flut- 
tered around  some  tempting  store,  like  moths  around  a 
candle,  gay  equipages  dashed  along  the  crowded  streets  ; 
eleighs  of  exquisite  symmetry,  shaped  like  sea-shells,  in 
whose  depths  Amphitrite  might  have  reclined,  glided  by, 
silent  as  a  dream,  but  for  the  tinkling  of  the  tell-tale  bells. 
Crowds  of  men  hurried  from  place  to  place,  as  if  moved  by 
some  irresistible  impulse,  or  actuated  by  a  common  purpose  ; 
and  others,  whose  uselessness  was' their  passport  to  distinc- 
tion, sauntered  up  and  down.  Virtuous  Poverty  slunk 
behind  backs,  well-bred  Yice  stalked  boldly  forth,  chal- 
lenging observation,  and  the  world,  with  all  its  complicated 
machinery,  moved  on. 

"  How  lonely  the  house  seems  without  Steve,"  said  Lizzy, 


ERNEST   GREY.  105 

breaking  the  long  silence.  "  Pool  little  fellow  !  I  would 
give  a  dollar,  if  I  had  it,  to  know  where  he  and  his  mother 
are  now.  How  you  would  have  loved  that  woman,  Mar- 
garet." 

"I  feel  sure  of  that.  How  long  is  it  since  she  left 
this  ?" 

"  Five  weeks — immediately  after  her  husband  was  ac- 
cused. Her  hard-hearted  landlord  had  an  officer  to  put 
her  out,  and  there  was  no  one  to  offer  her  a  shelter.  Oh 
if  I  had  been  at  home  !  or  if  mother  had  been  able  to 
think  or  act.  She  called  two  days  after,  and  told  mother 
where  she  lived,  but  she  forgot  the  name  of  the  street,  and 
could  only  remember  that  it  was  number  seventeen." 

"  Strange  she  never  called  again,"  said  Margaret ;  "  and 
Steve  so  much  attached  to  you.  Perhaps  she  is  ill." 

"  God  forbid  !"  exclaimed  Lizzy,  fervently.  "  What 
would  become  of  her,  and  no  one  to  mind  her  ?  You  don't 
think  so,  Margaret  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  fear  it.  She  would  certainly  have  called 
again,  if  possible,  for  she  could  not  suspect  you  of  unkind- 
ness,  and  she  knew  your  mother's  condition  too  well  to 
expect  her  to  remember  anything  correctly.  I  think  she 
must  be  ill." 

Lizzy  Roberts  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  but  the  low 
smothered  sob  would  be  heard,  and  told  what  the  clasped 
hands  endeavored  to  hide. 


106,  OUGHT  TO   BE   CONTENT. 

"  Oh  !  Margaret,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up,  and  dash- 
ing the  tears  away  ;  "  what  a  horriWe  thing  it  is  to  be 
poor.  Poverty  must  be  wrong  some  way,  for  it  makes  one 
selfish.  My  first  thought  was  to  find  out  Mrs.  Grey,  and 
if  she  was  sick  to  sit  up  with  her,  and  mind  her  night  and 
day  ;  but  then  my  work,  my  work — how  is  it  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Aye,  Liz — one  glance  at  these  yards  of  ghastly  white, 
paralyzes  many  a  generous  feeling." 

"Yes,  that  it  does,"  said  Lizzy.  "I  have  wept  more 
tears  in  one  day  for  the  change  poverty  has  made  in  my 
temper  and  disposition,  than  for  everything  else  put  to- 
gether." 

"  You  and  I,  Liz,  are  not  very  old,"  said  Margaret,  sud- 
denly, "nor  very  old-fashioned.  Can  you  tell  me,  then, 
why  we  are  tempted  hi  the  old  style  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Margaret  ?"  said  Lizzy,  aston- 
ished. 

"  I  have  read  somewhere,"  she  replied,  "  that — 

'  The  devil  now  is  wiser  than  of  yore, 
He  tempts  by  making  rich,  not  making  poor.' 

But,  like  every  other  new  fashion,  it  takes  some  time  before 
it  descends  to  the  poor.  Dear  me  !  dear  me  !  how  I  would 
like  to  be  tempted  in  that  way.  Temptations  every  day,  in 
the  shape  of  golden  dollars — eh,  Liz.  Then  you  could  hunt 
up  Mrs.  Grey  and  Steve,  in  place  of  hunting  up  work." 


ERNEST  GREY.  107 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Liz,  rising,  "of  my  ap- 
pointment with  Miss  Mason — 'tis  time  to  go." 

"  Wasn't  she  in  Sharpe's  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  always  treated  me  kindly.  She  wanted  me 
then  to  go  out  and  sew,  but  I  couldn't  leave  mother  by 
herself.  What  did  she  say  to  you,  Margaret  ?" 

"  She  didn't  say  what  she  wanted,  but  I  am  sure,  from 
her  manner,  that  it  will  be  something  to  your  advantage. 
Probably  to  go  out  to  sew,  which  you  can  readily,  for  I 
will  attend  to  your  mother.  Come  here,"  she  said,  as  Lizzy 
was  going  out,  "  your  hat  is  all  jammed — let  me  fix  it." 

"  You  are  better  than  a  looking-glass,  Margaret." 

"  I  know  it.  Now  hurry  back,  for  I  am  all  impatience 
to  hear  the  .news.  I  have  a  great  mind,"  she  said,  follow- 
ing Lizzy  to  the  entry,  "  to  throw  my  old  slipper  after  you 
for  luck." 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Lizzy,  laughing  ;  and  the  old  slipper 
came  clattering  down  the  stairs 


CHAPTER    XII. 

ACQUITTAL    OF    ERNEST   GREY INTERVIEW    WITH    LIZZY 

ROBERTS — SEARCH    FOR   HIS    WIFE    AND    CHILD. 

AFTER  remaining"  in  prison  two  or  three  weeks,  Ernest 
Grey  was  brought  to  trial  and  acquitted,  the  evidence 
being  insufficient  to  convict.  He  was  free  once  more,  and 
mixing  with  the  crowd,  but  he  felt  that  the  brand  was  on 
his  brow,  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  moral  leper,  that 
he  was  known  to  the  police  as  a  suspicious  person,  that 
those  who  knew  him  would  shun  him,  that  his  chances  of 
earning  an  honest  livelihood  were  lessened,  if  not  utterly 
destroyed. 

This  he  knew,  but  all  appeared  insignificant  and  worth- 
less, in  •  comparison  with  the  fate  of  his  wife  and  child. 
Where  was  Jane  ?  What  kept  her  away  for  the  last 
three  days  ?  What  could  keep  her  away,  at  such  a  time, 
from  him  ?  Was  Steve  alive  or  dead  ?  As  these  thoughts 
flashed  across  his  mind,  he  quickened  his  pace  to  a  run, 
and  dashed  through  the  streets,  unconscious  of  the  atten- 


ERNEST   GREY.  109 

tion  he  excited.  He  soon  reached  the  miserable  dwelling 
which  he  last  called  home,  forgetting,  in  the  one  absorbing 

idea,  all  that  had  occurred  since  he  left  it.     With  a  bound 

f 

he  was  up  the  stairs — eagerly  and  tremblingly  he  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door — it  was  locked  !  He  looked  through 
the  key-hole — no  familiar  form  met  his  eye.  He  listened — 
no  sound  of  life  reached  his  ears.  All  was  still  as  the 
grave.  He  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  and  clung  to  the 
balusters  for  support :  the  vague  fear  that  had  haunted 
him  for  the  last  few  days  now  assumed  a  definite  shape. 
His  wife  was  dead,  or  his  child — perhaps  both. 

As  if  petrified,  he  stood  immovable,  his  dry  eyes  glitter- 
ing, and  his  face  ghastly  pale.  Then  a  flood  of  softer 
memories  rolled  over  his  soul,  and  as  he  thought  of  his 
prattling  boy,  and  the  uncomplaining,  womanly  fortitude 
of  his  gentle  wife,  his  eye  grew  moist,  and  his  lip  quivered 
with  emotion.  What  had  become  of  them  ?  Where  had 
they  died — and  how  ? 

A  blast  of  wind  swept  through  the  empty  room,  sound- 
ing like  a.wail,  and  the  floor  creaked  as  if  some  one  passed 
over  it.  Dropping  on  his  kness,  he  gazed  again  through 
the  key-hole  :  in  vain  ;  he  could  see  the  long  pendant 
cobwebs  wave  to  and  fro — he  could  see  the  rays  of  the 
wintry  sun  upon  the  floor — he  could  see  the  broken  shutters 
swing  lazily  back  and  forth — but  that  was  all.  No  living 
thing  could  be  seen  in  that  deserted  room. 


110  INTERVIEW  WITH   LIZZY  ROBERTS. 

"Jane  !  Jane  !"  he  cried,  in  the  wild  hope  of  getting  an 
answer, — "  open  the  door — it's  only  me.  ^  Steve  !  why,  it 
is  your  father,  boy." 

No  answer,  save  the  sigh  of  the  wind.  Rising  slowly, 
and  suppressing  every  sign  of  emotion  by  a  violent  effort, 
he  ascended  to  the  attic  room  occupied  by  Lizzy  Roberts 
and  her  mother. 

Lizzy  was  at  her  usual  employment,  and  looked  paler 
and  thinner  than  ever.  She  had  suffered  a  great  deal  since 
the  morning  she  procured  work  for  Mrs.  Grey.  The  dozen 
collars  had  been  lost  in  the  confusion,  and  in  consequence 
Lizzy  Roberts  was  not  only  discharged,  but  the  price  of 
them  deducted  from  the  little  due  to  her.  She  got  work 
next  day  in  another  store,  but  as  she  went  to  seek  for  it, 
and  not  in  answer  to  an  advertisement,  she  was  obliged  to 
do  it  for  less  than  the  usual  price,  and  even  then  it  was 
given  as  a  kind  of  compliment.  To  make  up  for  this  reduc- 
tion was  impossible  ;  she  could  not  work  more  incessantly 
than  she  had  done,  and  she  could  not  work  so  quickly,  for 
her  situation  became  every  day  more  hopeless,  and  she  was 
growing  listless  and  discouraged. 

Grey  entered  without  knocking,  and  coming  close  to  the 
astonished  girl,  asked  her  where  was  Jane. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Grey  ! — how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
joyfully,  springing  from  her  seat  and  clasping  both  his 
hands  in  her's. 


EENEST  GREY.  Ill 

"  Where  are  they,  Lizzy  ?  my  wife  and  child,"  he  said, 
impatiently. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  knew.  But  when  I  was  to  the  store 
with  work,  Short  put  the  things  on  the  sidewalk,  and  Jane 
and  Steve  went  away  and  never  came  back." 

"  And  you  never  tried  to  make  them  out  !"  he 
exclaimed,  bitterly.  "  Oh,  no  !  you  wouldn't  be  seen 
with  the  wife  of  a  common  thief.  And  yet  you  were 
friends  1" 

"  Indeed,  I  did,  often  and  often  try,  but  not  so  much  as 
I  would  like  to,  for  I  should  do  my  work." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  I  know — work  or  die — that's  the  way  with 
the  poor.  Let  them  talk  as  they  will,  and  preach  as  they 
will,  about  poverty — I  tell  you,  Lizzy  Roberts,  it  is  both  a 
curse  and  a  crime.  Did  not  poverty  make  a  thief  of  me  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  ?  If  I  was  a  rich  man,  who  would 
dare  to  suspect  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  call  yourself  a  thief." 

"  Why  not  ?  Have  I  not  been  suspected  as  a  thief, 
tried  as  a  thief,  imprisoned  as  a  thief — everything  but  con- 
victed as  a  "thief,  and  acquitted,  not  because  they  thought 
the  innocent,  but  because  they  could  not  prove  me  guilty. 
Did  I  not  read  it  in  their  eyes — Judge,  jury,  spectators — 
not  a  man  there,  but  would  be  willing  to  stake  his  salvation 
on  my  guilt.  But  they  were  conscientious  men,  and  upright 
jurors — they  went  only  by  the  evidence,  and  so  they  flung 


112  INTERVIEW   WITH   LIZZY   ROBERTS. 

me  on  the  world  an  unconvicted  felon.     Curse  them — may 
they " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Grey — do  not  curse  them — they  did  but 
their  duty." 

"  Their  duty  !"  he  repeated,  scornfully.  "  Listen  to  me 
— not  one  of  the  twelve  men  who  acquitted  me — not  the 
judge  who  discharged  me,  and  let  me  loose  upon  the  com- 
munity, would  trust  me  to-morrow — would  give  me  the 
meanest  employment— would  suffer  me  inside  their  doors. 
No,  not  if  I  brought  their  own  very  verdict  as  a  recom- 
mendation,— and,  by  Heaven,  I'll  do  it.  They  cannot  call 
me  thief." 

He  was  dreadfully  excited,  and  paced  up  and  down  the 
room  with  a  rapid,  heavy  tread,  that  shook  the  crazy 
timbers  of  the  floor,  and  awakened  the  old  woman  from 
an  unrefreshing  slumber.  To  Lizzy's  enquiry  if  she 
wanted  a  drink,  she  replied,  in  a  rambling  way,  that  the 
less  she  wanted  the  better — that  no  one  cared  about 
her  now — and  that  it  was  well  Lizzy  could  afford  to  be 
idling. 

"  Sorrow  makes  us  selfish,"  he  said,  abruptly  ;  "  I  never 
thought  of  your  mother,  nor  your  work.     But  one  word* 
more — how  did  Jane  bear  the  disgrace  ?" 

"  Do  not  say  digrace,"  pleaded  Lizzy  ;  "  there  can  be  no 
disgrace  where  there  is  no  crime." 

An  expression  of  almost  sublime  joy  irradiated  Ernest 


ERNEST  GREY.  113 

Grey's  sallow  features  for  an  instant,  and  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  he  vainly  endeavored  to  make  firm — 

"  You  did  not  believe  me  guilty  ?" 

"  Not  for  a  moment." 

"  I  thank  you — from  my  soul  I  thank  you,  Lizzy  Roberts. 
I  feel  like  a  human  being  again.  God  bless  you.  If  I  find 
them  you  shall  see  me  soon." 

Brushing  his  hand  across  his  eyes  to  remove  all  traces 
of  emotion,  he  was  gone,  ere  she  had  time  to  question  him 
about  his  plans  and  prospects. 

Once  again  in  the  inhospitable  streets,  Ernest  Grey 
heeded  not  the  threatening  sky  above,  nor  the  frozen  earth 
below.  Shunning  the  crowded  business  streets,  he  turned 
into  the  narrow  alleys  and  gloomy  lanes  sacred  to  the  poor. 
He  descended  into  miserable,  unhealthy  basements  ;  he 
clambered  up  to  mouldering  foetid  garrets,  and  groped  his 
way  through  wretched,  sunless  rear-houses.  Through  all 
the  comfortless  abodes — through  all  the  dreary  haunts 
where  poverty  and  misery,  driven  by  dire  necessity,  are 
compelled  to  herd  with  vice — through  that  tainted,  moral 
atmosphere  where  innocence  dies,  and  youth  is  corrupted — • 
a  fountain  poisoned  at  its  source — he  passed,  without- find- 
ing the  objects  of  his  search.  He  feared  not  for  Jane,  for 
well  he  knew  that  Virtue  is  a  hardy  plant,  and  can  derive 
strength  and  sustenance  from  food  that  innocence  could  not 
touch  and  live.  But  as  he  thought  of  Steve,  flung  by 


114  SEARCH   FOR   HIS   WIFE   AND    CHILD. 

untoward  circumstances  face  to  face  with  Vice,  forced  to 
gaze  on  its  odious,  repulsive  features  until  familiarity  ren- 
dered them  endurable,  and  then 

He  was  faint  with  hunger  and  fatigue,  but  this  train  of 
thought  gave  him  strength,  and  he  hastened  on.  The 
night  was  falling,  and  the  cold  wind,  cutting  as  a  sword, 
swept  through  the  dilapidated  streets — doors  creaked,  and 
shutters  flapped — shivering  children,  without  one  spark  of 
childish  playfulness,  passed  from  house  to  house,  and  groups 
of  abandoned  women,  and  moody,  reckless  men,  were  gath- 
ered at  door-stoops  or  on  the  corners.  Here  were  the 
shadows  of  New  York  life — this  was  the  back-ground  of 
that  gorgeous  picture. 

Furtively  Ernest  Grey  glanced  at  each  child  he  passed, 
but  none  were  like  his  Steve,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  spoke  his 
thankfulness  more  eloquently  than  words.  For  hours  he 
continued  his  search,  elbowing  his  way  through  every 
crowd,  pausing  near  excited  groups  to  catch  the  subject  of 
their  discourse,  or  asking  little  children  if  they  knew  any 
boy  called  Steve.  At  last,  exhausted  nature  yielded, 
and  seeking  shelter  in  an  open  door-way,  he  slept  for 
hours. 

The  next  day  he  renewed  the  search,  and  the  next,  with 
like  result,  and  the  evening  of  the  third  day  found  him 
utterly  hopeless  and  nerveless.  With  eyes  cast  down,  he 
moved  listlessly  forward — in  what  direction  he  knew  not — 


ERNEST  GREY.  -  115 

so  pre-occupied,  that  he  was  among  a  crowd  of  women 
and  children  ere  he  was  aware. 

"  Poor  little  fellow  1"  said  one  woman,  compassionately, 
"  his  mother  is  very  sick,  and  he  has  no  father." 

"  Yes  I  have,"  said  the  child,  quickly  ;  "  but  I  can't  find 
him." 

Ernest  Grey  started  as  if  electrified.  There  was  no 
mistaking  that  childish  voice  ;  and  in  the  npxt  moment 
Stephen  was  pressed  to  his  father's  heart,  with  an  energy 
that  confused  and  frightened  him. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    WASHERWOMAN A    FRIEND    IN    NEED HOPES    AND 

FEARS. 

THE  morning  that  Mrs.  Grey's  miserable  substitute  for 
furniture  was  placed  in  the  street  by  order  of  the  landlord, 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  an  old  acquaintance,  hearing  of  her  trouble, 
came  to  see  her.  She  was  a  poor  washerwoman — very 
poor,  but  kind  withal ;  and  she  proposed  that  Jane  should 
give  up  the  room  she  occupied,  and  live  with  her.  This 
would  save  the  expense  of  rent  and  fuel,  and  if  Jane  felt 
able  to  assist  her  in  washing,  she  was  to  have  her  share  of 
the  money  thus  earned. 

Never  was  kindness  better  timed,  and  never  was  grati- 
tude more  heartfelt.  The  offer  was  accepted  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  was  made,  and  taking  Stephen  with  her, 
she  set  out  with  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  for  her  humble  abode, 
intending  to  leave  him  there  and  return  for  her  furni- 
ture. But  when  she  did  return,  the  room  was  empty,  and 
on  applying  to  Short,  she  was  abused  for  her  impudence  in 
looking  for  her  worthless  rubbish,  while  she  was  in  arrears 


ERNEST   GREY.  117 

for  rent.  Knowing  that  it  was  useless  to  reason  or  plead 
with  him,  she  turned  away  in  silence,  thankful  that  all  were 
not  equally  hard-hearted. 

Lizzy  Roberts  was  at  the  store  with  work,  and  Mrs. 
Grey  was  too  anxious  to  await  her  return  ;  so  leaving  word 
for  her,  she  hastened  to  her  new  home,  determined  to 
make  up  for  want  of  strength  and  practice  by  untiring 
industry. 

Who  can  tell  the  kindness  of  the  poor  to  the  poor  ? 
What  pen  can  do  justice  to  their  ready  sympathy  ?  Re- 
member that  charity  in  them  is  not  simply  kind — it  is 
heroic.  What  they  give  is»not  out  of  their  abundance,  but 
emphatically  out  of  their  own  mouths.  Luxuries  they 
know  not — superfluities  they  never  had  ;  but  what  they 
cannot  relieve  they  can  feel  for — when  they  cannot  succor, 
they  can  sympathize. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  to 
her  afflicted  friend.  With  the  delicacy  of  true  feeling  she 
made  it  appear  that  Mrs.  Grey's  assistance  was  invaluable 
to  her,  and  that  but  for  it  she  could  not  retain  her  best 
customers.  At  every  opportunity,  when  Jane  was  attend- 
ing to  her  child,  or  visiting  her  husband,  the  simple,  kind- 
hearted  washerwoman  was  working  away  at  her  laborious 
occupation.  It  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  see  her  homely 
face,  bright  with  the  consciousness  of  doing  a  kind  action, 
glowing  through  the  misty,  reeking  atmosphere  of  steaming 


118  HOPES   AND   FEARS. 

soap-suds  that  enveloped  her.  And  still  more  pleasant  was 
it  when  Jane  returned  to  listen  to  her  transparent  attempts 
to  deceive,  and  her  boasting  wonder  at  the  amount  of  work 
she  had  got  through  during  her  absence. 

As  the  day  of  trial  approached-,  Jane's  restlessness  be- 
came more  uncontrollable.  She  could  not  sleep  by  night 
or  day  ;  she  could  not  work,  yet  idleness  was  irksome  to 
her  ;  she  could  not  rest,  yet  motion  brought  no  relief. 
"When  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men,"  her  thoughts,  like 
wandering  ghosts,  were  flitting  round  that  dreary  pile,  whose 
sepulchral  name  tells  eloquently  of  buried  hopes  and  ruined 
reputations,  Often  during  the  night  had  she  heard  the 
judge's  charge,  or  listened  in  breathless  eagerness  to  catch 
the  verdict  of  the  jury  ;  but  ever  as  she  listened,  the  sound 
died  away,  and  with  a  start  she  awoke  from  her  momentary 
slumber.  Sometimes  the  officials  and  legal  functionaries 
were  hidden  from  view  ;  but  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  stood 
out  in  bold  relief,  and  in  the  back-ground  was  a  mass  of 
spectators,  gazing  at  him  as  they  would  at  some  fierce 
animal  on  exhibition.  She  felt  that  in  that  crowd  of  fellow- 
creatures  there  was  no  sympathy  for  him,  and  shuddering, 
she  turned  to  read  her  fate  in  the  features  of  the  prisoner. 
One  look  was  enough — the  concentrated,  intense  attention 
• — the  head  bent  forward,  as  if  to  catch  the  faintest  sound 
— the  short,  quick  breathing  that  alone  denoted  the  inward 
fluttering  of  the  spirit,  vanished  as  she  gazed — a  mortal 


ERNEST  GREY.  119 

pallor  overspread  cheek,  brow  and  lip — he  shivered  as  if 
the  icy  hand  of  death  had  touched  him,  and  from  the  deep- 
ening gloom  that  shrouded  the  court  a  shadowy  hand  pro- 
jected, on  which  was  traced  the  fatal  word,  "  Guilty." 

Such  slumbers  could  not  be  refreshing,  and  day  by  day 
Jane  looked  more  wretched  and  ghastly.  Yet  during  the 
short  visits  she  was  allowed  to  make  to  her  husband,  she 
did  her  utmost  to  appear  cheerful,  in  order  to  calm  the 
anguish  of  his  mind,  and  for  the  same  purpose  she  concealed 
from  him  the  conduct  of  Short  and  her  change  of  abode. 
If  the  trial  ended  favorably,  he  would  be  better  able  to 
bear  it, — if  unfavorably,  then  he  would  be  spared  another 
pang.  So  she  reasoned. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MORE   TRIALS   AND   TROUBLES THE    SEPARATION. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Grey  returned  from  her  last  visit  to  the  Tombs, 
she  found  her  friend  busily  engaged  in  packing  up  her 
clothes,  and  trying,  at  the  same  time,  to  cheer  Steve,  who 
was  crying  bitterly. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?"  said  Jane  ;  "  has  anything 
happened  while  I  was  away  ?  What  are  you  crying  for, 
Steve  ?" 

"  She's  going  away,"  he  sobbed,  less  in  sorrow  than  hi 
anger,  "  and  she  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"  Hush  !  Steve,  hush  !"  said  the  mother,  as  if  anxious 
only  to  suppress  this  exhibition  of  feeling  in  her  child. 

Poor  Mrs.  Grey  !  what  sad  news  it  was  to  her.  Her 
voice  faltered — she  could  only  repeat — "  Going  away  ?" 

"Yes,  but  not  for  long,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald — "only 
for  a  week  or  ten  days.  One  of  the  Prices  is  bad  with  the 
fever,  and  as  I  ain't  afeer'd  of  it,  they  want  me  to  mind 
her.  You  know  they  have  been  very  kind  to  me — so  I 
couldn't  refuse  them.  I'm  rale  sorry  about  it,  for  you  and 


ERNEST  GREY.  121 

Steve  will  be  so  lonesome  here  by  yourselves,  and  the  worst 
is  that  I  can't  come  and  see  you,  for  fear  I'd  bring  the 
infection.  And  the  trial  will  come  011  in  a  few  days,  and 
you'll  be  fretting  yourself  to  death — I  know  you  will,  and 
you'll  have  nobody  to  be  with  you.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  hunt  up  Lizzy  Ro- 
berts before  I  go,  and  bring  her  over  here.  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  see  her  ?" 

"  Like  !  yes,  that  I  would, — but — I  won't  send  for 
her." 

'  Yes,  do  !"  exclaimed  Steve — "  do  send  for  Lizzy.  You 
bring  her,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald — won't  you  ?  and  I'll  not  cry 
any  more.  I  want  to  see  my  Lizzy  Roberts, — and  you 
must  bring  her." 

"  Do  you  think  she  wouldn't  come  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald. 

"  I  know  she  would,  on  the  moment,  and  she  would  have 
been  here  long  ago,  had  she  been  told  where  I  was  ;  but, 
poor  thing,  she  works  so  hard  for  a  trifle  that  I  couldn't 
bear  to  take  a  minute  of  her  time.  Then  she  has  her  poor 
sick  mother  to  attend  to.  Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  her 
wasting  a  minute  with  me." 

"  I'll  go  and  tell  her  where  you  live,  any  way.  Maybe 
she  passes  the  house  every  day  with  her  work,  and  if  she 
only  dropped  in  for  a  moment,  wouldn't  it  be  a  comfort  for 
you  to  PPO  her  ?  I'll  run  this  very  minute,  before  I  do 


122  THE   SEPARATION. 

another  thing."  And  flinging  aside  her  clothes,  she  pro- 
pared  to  set  out. 

"  Finish  what  yon  are  doing,"  said  Jane,  "  and  I  mil  call 
to  Lizzy  to-morrow.  I  think  it  would  be  better." 

"  Very  well,  just  as  you  like  ;  but  will  you  be  sure  to 
call  to-morrow — you  promise  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  promise  ;  and  now  let  me  help  you  to  get  ready. 
Afterwards  you  can  tell  me  what  I'm  to  do  while  you  are 
away." 

"  Call  for  the  clothes  on  Monday,  the  same  as  ever,  and 
don't  say  a  word  about  me.  Bishop's,  and  Wright's  and 
Henry's,  will  be  as  much  as  you  can  do.  I'll  settle  about 
the  other  places." 

"  Where  are  the  shirts  and  fine  things  to  be  left  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  I  left  them  home  while  you  were  away,  and 
got  this" — putting  two  dollars  into  Jane's  hand.  "  That's 
all  your  own  earning." 

"  I  can't  take  it,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald- — indeed,  I  can't,"  said 
Jane,  earnestly.  "  I  did'nt  earn  one  half  of  it." 

"  I  know  bettor,"  was  the  positive  answer.  "  There  is  a 
dozen  of  shirts  to  be  left  in  Barclay  street,"  she  continued, 
in  a  hurried  tone,  as  if  anxipus  to  get  away  from  the  sub- 
ject. "Two  of  them  are  not  ironed  yet, — and  these  five 
dresses  belong  to  Mrs.  Smith.  You'll  be  paid  in  both 
places  ;  and  mind,  you  make  yourself  comfortable.  Don't 
Iny  out  any  money  for  soap,  or  starch,  or  coal,  or  anything 


ERNEST  GREY.  123 

for  the  washing.  I  spoke  to  the  grocery  man  at  the 
corner,  and  you  can  get  them  on  credit.  Now  you  are 
crying — and — and — I'll  be  back  with  a  pocket-full  of 
money." 

"  Will  you  ?"  said  Steve,  joyfully,  clapping  his  hands. 
"  Then  you  must  buy  a  coat  for  my  father,  and  shoes  too, 
and  a  cloak  for  mother,  and  something  for  Lizzy  Roberts — 
won't  you  ?  A  whole  pocket-full  of  money  !  Oh  !  won't 
I  get  a  ball,  and  a  top,  and  a  kite  1"  he  exclaimed,  with 
childish  glee,  prancing  about  his  mother,  all  his  little  sor- 
rows forgotten  in  that  moment. 

After  arranging  with  thoughtful  kindness  for  the  comfort 
of  Jane  and  her  child,  the  poor  washerwoman,  with  a  mind 
divided  between  pleasure  for  the  prospective  profit,  and 
pain  for  those  she  was  leaving,  set  out  to  undertake  her 
new  duties.  Never  did  Jane  feel  so  lonely  as  that  evening 
— the  room  looked  more  dreary  and  desolate  than  it  was 
wont  to  do — the  moaning  east  wind  sighed  through  the 
broken  window-panes  and  crazy  door,  and  the  dim  light 
of  the  solitary  lamp  made  it  still  more  dreary  and  desolate. 

For  many  an  hour  after  Steve  fell  asleep,  she  sat  buried 
in  thought,  her  head  resting  on  her  hands,  and  the  silent 
tears  falling  unheeded  ;  and  when,  at  length,  worn  out 
with  grief,  she  sought  repose,  her  dreams  were  but  the 
exaggerated  images  of  her  waking  thoughts,  and  she  arose, 
wearied  and  unrefreshed. 


124  THE    SEPARATION. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  work  to  be  done,  and  the 
necessity  for  exertion  giving  strength,  as  it  generally  does, 
she  set  about  it,  intending  to  leave  the  shirts  home  before 
making  her  daily  visit  to  the  prison.  The  snowy,  crumpled 
linen,  by  the  joint  agency  of  moisture  and  heat,  became, 
under  her  hands,  stiff,  smooth  and  glossy,  and  the  loose 
morning-dresses  rustled  like  silk.  It  is  no  trifling  tiling  to 
fold  a  shirt  in  proper  style,  to  reveal  all  that  should  be 
revealed,  and  not  one  particle  more — to  display  the  entire 
length  of  the  bosom,  from  the  collar  to  its  junction  with 
the  less  filmy,  but  more  substantial  fabric  of  which  the 
main  body  is  composed — not  to  take  one  iota  off  the  ample 
expanse  of  plaits  that  extend  on  each  side  of  the  central 
band, — sometimes  divided  equally  with  rigorous  imparti- 
ality,— and  sometimes  a  crowd  of  little  ones  hemmed  in 
between  Lilliputian  giants,  real  tritons  among  minnows. 

Without  bestowing  a  passing  thought  upon  them,  Mrs. 
Grey  folded»and  placed  them  in  the  basket,  and  telling 
Steve  not  to  go  out,  and  giving  him  a  thousand  cautions 
about  the  fire,  hurried  off.  She  was  disappointed  in  both 
places,  for  under  some  frivolous  pretext  or  other,  no  money 
was  forthcoming.  She  did  not  mind  it  much,  however,  for 
the  two  dollars  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  left  were  a  mine  of  wealth 
to  her. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE    FROZEN    STEPS — AN    ACCIDENT THE    CHILD'S    RESOLVE. 

As  Mrs.  Grey  passed  the  City  Hall,  she  was  startled  to 
find  that  the  time  appointed  to  see  the  prisoners  had  almost 
expired,  and  being  compelled  to  postpone  her  visit  to  the 
following  day,  she  proceeded  towards  her  home,  as  fast  as 
the  slippery  state  of  the  pavements  would  permit.  Encum- 
bered by  her  large  clothes-basket,  she  was  more  than  once 
on  the  point  of  falling,  to  the  undisguised  delight  of  several 
young  urchins,  who  had  leagued  with  the  frost  to  render 
the  streets  impassible.  Steve,  in  the  meantime,  sat  watch- 
ing the  boys  from  the  basement  window,  with  the  greatest 
interest,  as  they  followed  each  other,  in  quick  succession, 
on  the  glassied  slide.  Oil  they  went,  "regular  as  rolling 
water,"  their  arms  extended  on  either  side  as  a  balancing 
power,  and  their  breath  steaming  in  the  frosty  air.  But 
nothing  delighted  him  so  much  as  to  see  the  boys,  who 
were  dissatisfied  with  the  scanty  supply  nature  had  pro- 
vided for  their  accommodation,  turn  round  and  supply  the 


126  THE   FROZEN   STEPS — AN   ACCIDENT. 

deficiency  by  deluging  the  side-path  with  water,  which  the 
keen  and  biting  air  quickly  transmuted  into  ice. 

"  Say,  boys  !"  shouted  Steve,  putting  his  mouth  to  a 
broken  pane, — "  say — make  ice  on  my  steps — won't  you  ?" 

Was  there  ever  a  child  that  did  not  emphasize  the  posses- 
sive pronouns  ?  The  word  was  enough — the  next  moment  a 
pail-full  of  water  was  trickling  down  the  steps,  and  with 
marvelous  rapidity  a  transparent  coating  was  formed  over 
the  rugged  stone.  Catharine  of  Russia  never  took  more 
pride  in  her  Palace  of  Ice — "thai  most  magnificent  and 
mighty  freak," — than  Stephen  Grey  took  in  the  pellucid 
fretwork  that  fringed  the  edge  of  each  step.  The  fresh, 
uutired  imagination  of  the  child  saw  wonders  and  beauty 
in  it  that  mature  age  would  smile  to  hear  of,  and  no 
idea  of  evanescence  intruded  to  mar  the  pleasure  he 
enjoyed. 

The  creaking  of  the  rusty  gate  on  its  hinges  attracted 
his  attention,  and  seeing  his  mother,  he  endeavored  to  make 
her  understand  what  had  occurred —not  that  he  had  any 
idea  of  warning  her  against  danger — no  ;  he  merely  wished 
her  to  admire  what  he  admired.  Pleased  at  seeing  him 
pleased,  but  too  hurried  to  attend  to  what  he  was  saying, 
Mrs.  Grey  attempted  to  descend  the  steep  ladder-like 
stairs  without  any  precaution  ;  but  scarcely  had  she  touched 
the  treacherous  footing,  when  she  was  precipitated  to  the 
bottom,  the  basket  hampering  her,  and  taking  away  every 


ERNEST   GREY.  127 

chance  she  otherwise  would  have  had  to  save  herself  from 
fulling. 

Steve  ran,  screaming,  to  the  door,  and  strove  with  despe- 
rate energy  to  lift  her  up.  Poor  boy  ! — he  might  as  well 
have  attempted  to  move  a  mountain 

"  Don't  cry,  Steve,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  faintly — "  don't  cry. 
I'll  be  better  by-and-bye." 

She  endeavored  to  rise,  but  the  extreme  pain  produced 
by  the  exertion  overpowered  her,  and  she  sank  back  sense- 
less. When  she  awoke  to  consciousness,  the  frightened 
child  was  kneeling  beside  her,  crying  bitterly,  and  exclaim- 
ing over  and  over  again — "  it's  by-and-bye  now,  mother — 
it's  by-aud-bye  now,  so  it  is." 

The  child's  continued  cries  having  been  overheard,  some 
poor  women — her  fellow-lodgers — came  to  her  assistance. 
They  carried  her  in,  and  obtained  medical  aid  for  her,  when 
it  was  discovered  that  she  had  dislocated  her  ancle,  and 
fractured  her  leg  below  the  knee.  Nothing  could  exceed 
Jane's  grief  when  she  heard  the  extent  of  her  misfortune — 
the  impossibility  of  going  to  the  prison,  and  the  agony  of 
suspense  her  husband  would  endure  in  consequence,  was  her 
first  thought.  This  was  the  greatest  aggravation  of  her 
suffering. '  Oh  !  how  she  longed  for  one  glimpse  of  Lizzy 
Roberts'  sweet,  patient  face — she  felt  that  it  would  do  her 
more  good  than  all  the  medicine  in  New  York,  for  it  would 
ease  her  mind.  She  would  have  no  hesitation  in  asking  her 


128  AN   ACCIDENT. 

to  go  to  the  prison  and  tell  her  husband  what  had  occurred : 
she  kiiew  that  she  would  break  it  to  him  gently.  What, 
too,  would  she  not  give  for  the  cordial  kindness  of  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  !  how  inestimable  it  would  be  at  such  a  time  ! 
If  either  were  with  her  she  would  be  contented,  for  Steve 
would  then  be  taken  care  of,  and  all  that  kindness  could  do 
would  be  done  for  her.  Still  she  felt  some  hesitation  in 
appealing  to  them,  and  resolved  to  wait  till  the  next  day, 
in  hopes  that  she  might  feel  better. 

The  next  day,  however,  as  might  be  expected,  she  was 
much  worse — in  high  fever,  and  utterly  unable  to  communi- 
cate her  wishes  intelligibly.  The  poor  women  who  lived  in 
the  same  house,  watched  by  her  sick  bed  by  turns,  or 
attended  to  Steve  ;  and  though  they  had  but  little  to  give, 
and  that  little  of  the  coarsest  kind,  yet  it  was  given  un- 
grudgingly, and  with  cheerful  alacrity.  More  than  one 
tried  to  entice  Steve  away,  for  their  women's  hearts  over- 
flowed with  pity  for  the  youthful  mourner  ;  but  he  would 
not  leave  the  room.  He  spent  hours  crouching  at  the  back 
of  the  bed,  eating  what  was  brought  to  him,  without 
remark,  but  never  asking  for  food. 

On  the  third  day  the  fever  began  to  abate,  but  anxiety 
of  mind,  and  the  want  of  proper  nourishment,  retarded  her 
recovery,  and  days  passed  without  producing  any  percepti- 
ble improvement. 

No  one  could  give  her  tidings  of  her  husband — no  one 


EEXEST  GREY.  129 

knew  anything  about  the  trial,  or  its  result.  They  took  no 
interest  iu  trials,  except  the  supposed  criminal  was  known 
to  them,  and  they  now,  for  the  first  time,  learned  that  their 
new  neighbor  had  a  husband  living. 

Unable  to  endure  the  suspense,  she  sent  for  Lizzy  Ro- 
berts, but  she  had  removed,  and  the  neighbors  could  not 
tell  where.  Then  she  sent  for  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  but  here 
again  a  disappointment  awaited  her,  for  the  people  of  the 
house  flatly  refused  to  deliver  the  message,  lest  it  might 
distract  the  attention  of  the  nurse  from  her  sick  charge. 

"  Oh,  Steve  !  my  darling  child,  what  will  become  of 
you?"  said  the  afflicted  mother — "alone  hi  the  world, 
without  friends.  I  know  not.  It  distracts  ine  to  think 
of  it,  and  yet  I  can  think  of  nothing  else." 

Without  understanding  the  depth  of  his  mother's  grief, 
poor  Steve,  child-like,  cried  for  sympathy. 

"  If  I  could  but  see  your  father  !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
startling  earnestness,  raising  herself  in  the  bed,  and  looking 
at  the  wondering  child  with  an  expression  that  made  the 
tears  run  faster  down  his  cheeks — "  If  I  could  but  see  your 
father,  I  would  die  happy." 

"  I'll  go  and  look  for  him,"  said  Steve. 

His  mother  smiled  sadly,  and  shook  her  head  at  his 
childish  folly  ;  but  Steve  meant  what  he  said,  and  slipping 
out  unobserved,  he  roamed  through  the  streets  in  search  of 
his  father.  He  soon  got  bewildered,  and  lost  his  way. 


130  THE  CHILD'S  EESOLVE. 

The  night  fell,  and  the  terrified  child,  thoroughly  alarmed, 
begged  of  some  women  to  take  him  home  to  his  mother,  as 
she  was  very  sick. 

"  What  a  pretty  boy  !"  said  one  woman — "  where  do 
you  live,  sonny  ?" 

"  Down  there,"  said  Steve,  pointing  in  the  very  opposite 
direction  to  his  home. 

"No,  he  don't,"  said  another.  "I  know  where.  Poor 
little  fellow  !  his  mother  is  very  sick,  and  he  has  no  father." 

At  this  juncture  Ernest  Grey  passed,  and  hearing  the 
well-known  voice,  forced  his  way  through  the  crowd  and 
found  his  child,  as  described  in  the  last  chapter. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 

GREY'S  RETURN  TO  HIS  HOME — MEETING  OF  HUSBAND  AND 
WIFE THE  MENDICANT. 

WHEN  Jane  first  observed  her  child's  absence,  she  was 
greatly  alarmed  lest  he  might  have  gone  to  seek  his  father, 
and  so  lost  his  way,  and  as  hour  after  hour  passed  without 
his  returning,  her  alarm  increased.  The  dim  twilight  fell 
like  a  pall  upon  that  dismal  basement,  and  she  strained  her 
eyes  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  penetrate  the  gloom,  but  he 
came  not.  The  twilight  gave  way  to  night,  and  she  list- 
ened— oh  !  with  what  intensity,  for  his  footfall,  but  the 
only  sounds  she  heard  were  the  beating  of  her  own  heart, 
and  her  quick,  irregular  breathing.  She  tried  to  rise,  but 
that  was  an  impossibility,  and  there  she  lay  for  hours  in 
feverish  anxiety,  her  physical  sufferings  forgotton  and  unfelt 
in  her  all-absorbing  mental  agony.  Suddenly  she  starts,  a 
strange,  wild  expression  lights  up  her  face,  and  every  sense 
seems  to  be  merged  in  that  of  hearing.  A  man's  step, 
eager  and  hurried,  approaches  the  house, — stops — de- 
scends the  stairs — the  door  is  flung  open,  and  the  next 


132  MEETING   OF   HUSBAND   AND   WIFE. 

moment,  Stephen,  escaping  from  his  father's  arms,  is  beside 
her. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  Jane,  fervently,  as  she 
pressed  him  to  her  heart,  and  almost  smothered  him  with 
kisses  ;  "  thank  Heaven  my  boy  is  safe." 

"  And  father,  too,"  said  the  child. 

"  Your  father  !  where  is  your  father  ?"  asked  Jane, 
wildly.  "  Oh,  Ernest !  Ernest  1"  she  continued,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  "if  you  are  in  the  room  come 
to  me." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered,  when  she  felt  her  hus- 
band's arms  around  her,  his  lips  pressed  to  her's,  and  the 
hot  scalding  tears  falling  like  rain  upon  her  face.  It  was 
some  moments  before  either  spoke — their  emotions  were 
too  deep  for  words.  Jane  was  the  first  to  regain  com- 
posure. 

"  Answer  one  question,"  she  said — "  the  verdict — what 
was  it  ?" 

"  Not  guilty." 

"  Thank  God  !"  was  her  heartfelt  exclamation.  "  Now, 
Ernest,  strike  a  light — I  want  to  see  you." 

The  lamp  was  lighted,  and  one  less  accustomed  than 
Ernest  Grey  to  scenes  of  destitution,  might  have  shuddered 
at  its  revealings.  Everything  spoke  of  the  most  abject 
poverty — the  mouldy  walls,  the  bare  floor  and  the  empty 
stove — the  very  aspect  of  the  room  was  dreary,  and  an 


ERNEST  GREY.  133 

appalling  sense  of  desolation  haunted  it  like  a  ghost.  But 
Ernest  Grey  was  too  familiar  with  misery  to  mind  these 
details — he  knew  it  without  waiting  to  scan  its  every  fea- 
ture— in  the  agony  of  that  moment  he  thought  only  of  his 
ivife.  As  the  light  fell  upon  her  face,  he  felt  a  sensation 
bf  relief,  for  there  was  a  flush  on  the  cheek  and  a  brightness 
in  the  eye,  that  looked  like  returning  health.  Jane's  scru- 
tiny was  not  so  satisfactory,  for  after  one  glance  she  sighed 
heavily,  and  turned  her  eyes  full  of  mournful  meaning  upon 
Steve.  Did  she  look  forward  to  the  time  when,  deprived 
of  father  and  mother,  he  would  have  to  struggle  through 
the  world — alone  ?  Alas  for  human  foresight ! — even  so. 

"  We  would  be  ungrateful  to  repine  at  anything,  when 
your  character  is  clear,"  she  said,  after  hearing  from  her 
husband  the  details  of  his  trial  and  acquittal.  "  I  will  try 
and  get  well,  and  in  a  little  time  we  will  be  happy  and 
comfortable.  I  feel  as  if  everything  could  be  borne  now. 
Poverty  is  nothing — disgrace  is  the  only  thing  to  be 
dreaded." 

All  this  time,  Steve,  elated  with  his  success,  stood  by 
the  bed,  but  when  Grey  told  of  his  wanderings  in  search 
of,  and  his  meeting  with  him,  when  hope  had  vanished,  his 
exultation  burst  all  bounds,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  say 
whether  he  laughed  or  cried  the  most. 

"  I  telled  you  I  would  find  him,"  he  repeated  over  and 
over  again — "  and  I  did — didn't  I,  mother  ?" 


134  MEETING   OF   HUSBAND   AND   WIPE. 

"  Yes,  you  did,  my  boy,"  said  his  father,  lifting  him  on 
his  knee,  "and  now  go  to  sleep,  Steve — you  are  tired 
walking." 

"  I  ain't  tired  one  bit,"  replied  Steve,  manfully,  but  the 
little  head  had  not  rested  many  minutes  on  his  father's 
shoulder,  when  sleep  overcame  him.  For  a  few  moments 
he  slept  soundly,  and  then  awaking  with  a  scream,  he 
caught  hold  of  his  father's  arm,  and  begged  him  not  to  go 
away  again. 

"  He  is  not  going  away,  my  darling  !  What  could  have 
put  that  into  his  head  ?"  said  the  mother,  anxiously. 

"  Come,  Steve — be  a  man,"  said  the  father,  appealing 
to  his  boyish  pride,  "  and  don't  cry — I  am  not  going  away 
any  more." 

"  You're  sure  ?'' 

"  Yes,  very  sure.     There,  now  go  to  sleep." 

Steve  was  the  only  one  in  that  miserable  abode  who  did 
sleep  that  night.  The  husband  and  wife  talked  over  the 
past,  and  arranged  their  plans  for  the  future — Jane  endeav- 
oring to  make  herself  believe  that  all  would  now  go  well, 
v  and  Grey  dreading  what  the  morrow  would  bring  forth. 

The  two  following  days  he  spent  seeking  for  work,  but 
procured  none — no  one  would  employ  him.  Some  con- 
sidered it  audacious  in  him  to  ask  for  work,  and  expressed 
it  pretty  plainly  in  their  manners.  Others  shrank  from 
him  as  if  dishonesty  were  contagious,  and  all  "  his  lordly 


ERNEST   GREY.  135 

fellow-worms''  refused  his  humble  petition  point  blank. 
They  admitted  that  he  might  be  innocent,  but  "good 
should  seem  good  as  well  as  be,"  was  their  motto,  and  they 
abided  by  it.  Had  Grey  been  a  murderer,  or  a  criminal 
of  the  first  magnitude,  philanthropists  might  have  taken 
him  in  hand,  for  philanthropists  and  physicians  are  attracted 
by  extreme  cases  ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  a  shabby 
sinner,  and  an  unconvicted  one  at  that,  and,  therefore,  he 
had  no  chance.  Poor  fellow  1  he  went  through  the  ordeal 
bravely.  True,  he  winced  under  the  open  contempt  and 
ostentatious  horror  of  many  "  a  dog  in  office  ;"  but  when 
he  thought  of  the  two  helpless  ones  depending  on  him,  he 
braced  himself  up  and  again  tried,  and  was  again  disap- 
pointed. At  night  he  returned,  tired  and  sick  at  heart, 
without  means  to  procure  nourishment  for  his  wife,  or  food 
for  his  child.  Steve,  like  all  children,  had  an  implicit  belief 
in  his  father's  omnipotence,  and  this  childish  faith,  betrayed 
in  every  look  and  word,  was  agonizing  to  Grey.  Though 
he  would  willingly  give  his  life  for  him,  he  could  do  nothing ! 
Nothing  ! — could  he  not  beg  ?  Yes,  even  that.  The 
man  revolted  at  the  idea,  but  the  father  shrank  from  no 
humiliation  for  his  child's  sake. 

"  Jane,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  must  try  and  get  bread  for 
Steve — he  is  hungry,  poor  child  !" 

"  I  didn't  think  you  had  any  money,  Ernest." 

"  And  you  thought  right.     I  Trmv°  »~V 


136  THE   MENDICANT. 

"You  are  not  going  to1' — Jane  stopped,  and  gazed  earn- 
estly in  his  face — "  to — ask  for  some  ?" 
.     He  leaned  over  her,  and  even  in  the  dim  light  his  face 
looked  flushed,  but  when  he  spoke  his  voice  betrayed  no 
emotion. 

"  I  am  going  to  beg  for  some,  Jane." 

Though  her  heart  swelled  to  bursting,  she  made  no 
attempt  to  dissuade  him,  and  without  a  word  saw  him 
depart ;  but  when  the  door  closed,  and  she  was  alone,  her 
feelings  could  no  longer  be  restrained,  and  she  gave  vent  to 
them  in  a  burst  of  grief. 

With  a  rapid  step  he  proceeded  to  Broadway,  and  took 
his  station  at  the  corner  of  Franklin  street.  He  drew  liis 
hat  over  his  brows — kept  himself  carefully  in  the  shade  of 
the  lamp-post,  and  scrutinized  the  groups  that  thronged 
past  to  the  different  places  of  amusement,  himself  an  object 
of  suspicion  to  many.  Every  variety  of  character  was 
there — every  phase  of  expression — tell-tale  faces,  faces  that 
tell  no  tales,  and  faces  that  have  no  tales  to  tell,  passed 
him,  and  with  a  penetration  sharpened  by  necessity,  he 
knew  them  at  a  glance.  From  some  he  shrank  away 
instinctively,  and  many  a  warm  and  kindly  nature  brushed 
past  him  before  he  could  summon  up  courage  to  appeal  to 
it.  Ashamed  of  his  irresolution,  he  determined  to  wait 
no  longer,  when  a  strong,  powerful  voice  struck  upon  his 
ear — 


EBNEST  GREY.  137 

"  Just  what  I  say,  sir, — the  poor  ought  to  be  attended 
to.  He  only  wants  to  make  capital  out  of  them." 

"  Nothing  more,  depend  upon  it,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

And  two  gentlemen,  warmly  clad  and  buttoned  up  to 
the  chin,  turned  the  corner  of  the  street.  Grey  laid  his 
hand  on  the  arm  of  the  first  speaker,  and  in  an  agitated 
voice  muttered — "  My  wife  and  child  are  starving." 

"  Work,  man,  work,"  said  the  gentleman,  harshly  ; 
"  you  are  worse  than  the  prodigal  in  the  Gospel — to  work 
you  are  able — to  beg  you  are  not  ashamed."  And  shaking 
him  off,  he  commenced  a  philippic  against  the  lazy,  improv- 
ident poor,  and  lashed  their  vices  with  a  whip  that  must 
have  been  borrowed  from  the  Furies.  Again  and  again 
Grey  applied  to  the  passers  by,  but  some  were  too  hurried 
to  attend  to  him, — some  had  no  power  to  help  him — some 
intimated  that  he  was  drunk,  and  others — among  them 
women  too,  shook  their  heads  incredulously,  and  "  didn't 
believe  a  word  of  it."  What  narcotic  invented  for  a 
troublesome  conscience,  ever  equaled  in  efficacy,  "  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it  ?"  None  whatever.  It  soothes  it, 
allays  its  irritation,  puts  it  on  good  terms  with  itself,  and 
restores  its  serene  self-complacency  in  a  twinkling.  Oh, 
wonderful  is  the  power  of  incredulity. 

Fifteen  minutes  have  scarcely  elapsed  since  Ernest  Grey 
made  his  first  application  for  relief — yet  in  that  short  time 
his  manner  has  become  so  changed,  you  could  scarcely 


138  THE  MENDICANT. 

believe  that  it  was  the  same  person.  His  agitation  has 
vanished — reiterated  repulses  have  made  him  reckless  and 
indifferent,  and  his  abrupt  appeals  sound  like  demands. 
Listen  to  him  as  he  accosts  that  intelligent-looking  me- 
chanic— his  voice  does  not  falter — observe  him — his  eye 
does  not  seek  the  ground.  "  I  want  help." 

"  You  do,"  said  the  person  addressed,  coming  to  a  full 
stop,  and  turning  round  to  view  the  applicant — "  then  you 
must  have  it." 

Kind  words  are  like  the  rod  of  Moses,  and  as  Grey  lis- 
tened, his  desperate  calmness  vanished,  and  the  unbidden 
tear  glistened  in  his  eye. 

"  My  wife  and  child  are  starving,"  he  added,  apologeti- 
cally, "  and  I  can  do  nothing  for  them." 

"  Starving  !  impossible  !"  exclaimed  the  sympathizing 
mechanic.  "  Starving  hi  New  York — starving  in  the  midst 
of  plenty — it  can't  be  true,"  his  emotion  proving  how  firmly 
he  believed  what  his  tongue  denied. 

"  Would  to  God  it  were  false  !"  fervently  ejaculated 
Grey.  "  Come  with  me — see  with  your  own  eyes.  I  am 
no  impostor." 

"  I  don't  doubt  your  story.  I  only  wish  I  could.  Richard 
Kane  is  not  the  man  to " 

"  Richard  Kane  !"  repeated  Grey,  interrupting  him,  in 
extreme  surprise.  "  I  might  have  known  it  was  him." 

"  Why,  who  are  you  ?"  said  Kane,  drawing  the  speaker 


ERNEST  GREY.  139 

to  the  brilliantly-lighted  window  beside  him,  and  pushing 
up  his  hat,  that  he  might  sec  his  features  distinctly. 

"  Ernest  Grey  !  as  I  live.  Your  wife  and  child  starv- 
ing !  Here"— ho  emptied  his  pockets  while  speaking,  and 
poured  a  quantity  of  silver  and  copper  into  his  hand — 
"  hurry  and  get  them  food.  For  God's  sake  !  man,"  he 
added,  impatiently,  "  make  no  delay." 

"  I  cannot  take  it — it  is  too  much." 

"  Grey,"  said  the  other,  earnestly,  "  I  would  have  given 
ten — aye,  twenty  times  that  sum,  a  few  weeks  ago,  to 
believe  as  I  now  do  that  you  are  innocent." 

"Take  back  your  money,"  said  Grey,  flinging  it  from 
him  as  if  it  were  poison.  "  Sooner  than  touch  a  cent  of  it 
I  would  starve,  and  let  all  belonging  to  me  starve  too.  If 
you  had  not  known  me,  Richard  Kane  !" 

"  Stop  ! — I  didn't  mean — I  only  said,"  stammered  Kane, 
endeavoring  to  detain  him,  but  in  vain,  for  Grey,  shaking 
oif  his  hand,  fled  an  if  his  direst  foe  was  on  his  track,  and 
was  soon  lost  in  the  darkness.  Richard  followed  him  for 
several  blocks,  anxious  to  discover  his  abode,  but  soon  gave 
up  the  pursuit  in  despair,  and  retraced  his  steps,  his  mind  a 
prey  to  remorse  and  sorrow. 

About  half  an  hour  after,  Ernest  entered  his  miserable 
abode  with  a  bountiful  supply  of  provisions.  He  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  Jane's  inquiries  as  to  where  he  had  got  them, 
and  seemed  saddened  by  his  success,  except  when  Steve's 
undisguised  delight  elicited  from  him  an  answering  smile. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  JUDGE  AND  THE  ACCUSED ERNEST  GREY  IN  THE 

FIFTH  AVENUE STOP  THIEF  ! THE  TOMBS. 

THE  next  day,  Ernest  Grey,  in  accordance  with  a  resolution 
he  had  previously  formed,  called  at  the  judge's  house.  It 
so  happened  that  he  had  advertised  that  morning  for  a 
man  to  take  charge  of  his  horses,  and  this  circumstance 
becoming  known  to  Grey  at  the  door,  he  took  advantage 
of  it,  to  obtain  admittance.  He  was  shown  into  a  luxuri- 
ously comfortable  room,  and  there,  half  hidden  in  an  easy 
chair,  sat  the  judge,  deep  in  tHe  morning  papers. 

"  You  want  a  man  to  take  charge  of  your  horses,"  said 
Grey,  addressing  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  paper 
he  was  reading. 

"  I  am  willing  to  work  for  whatever  you  are  willing  to 
pay.  Will  that  suit  ?" 

"Yes — that  will  do  very  well.  Have  you  any  recom- 
mendations ?  Stay,"  said  he,  putting  aside  his  paper,  and 


ERNEST  GREY.  141 

scrutinizing  the  applicant  closely, — "  where  have  I  seen  you 
lately  ?" 

"  In  the  dock,  when  you  were  on  the  bench,"  was  the 
unhesitating  reply. 

"  Ha  !  indeed.  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  want  with  me 
now  r 

"  Work." 

•'  Good  !  And  do  you  expect  me  to  give  it  to  you  ? — to 
trust  you  ?  a " 

"  Hold  !  sir,  hold  ! — here  is  my  recommendation.  Read 
it." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  carefully-folded  piece  of 
printed  paper,  and  passed  it  to  the  judge. 

"  What  foolery  is  this  ?"  he  said,  impatiently,  opening 
it,  however,  and  glancing  over  it.  "  Eh  !  why,  this  is  the 
verdict." 

"Yes, — the  verdict  of  acquittal ;  and  on  the  strength  of 
it,  I  ask  for  work.  Give  me  work,  and  I'll  prove  the  truth 
of  that  verdict." 

"  What  if  I  refuse  ?" 

A  deeper  shade  passed  over  Grey's  haggard  face,  and 
there  was  a  touch  of  sadness  in  his  voice  as  he  replied — 

"  Then  I  may  verify  your  suspicions." 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  me  ?"  inquired  the  judge,  after  a 
long  pause.  "  What  induced  you  to  act  in  such  an  unpre- 
cedented mannor  ?" 


142       THE  JUDGE  AND  THE  ACCUSED. 

"  Because  your  charge  to  the  Jury  set  me  free." 

"  I  charged  the  Jury  to  decide  by  the  evidence  ;  but  1 
expressed  no  opinion  as  to  your  guilt  or  innocence.  It  was 
not  ray  opinion  they  were  to  go  by,  but  by  the  facts  ;  and 
as  there  was  not  sufficient  legal  proof  of  your  guilt,  I,  as 
the  Judge,  gave  you  the  benefit  of  the  doubt — ray  own 
opinion  was  unfavorable  throughout." 

"  The  benefit  of  a  doubt !"  exclaimed  Grey,  indignantly 
— "  good  God  !  what  mockery.  What  benefit  is  it  to  me 
to  be  thrown  on  .the  world  with  my  character  blasted,  and 
my  name  a  bye-word  and  a  reproach  ?  Don't  be  merciful 
only  on  the  bench,  but  give  me,  as  a  man,  the  benefit  of  the 
Judge's  doubt,  and  I  will  thank  you." 

"  I  gave  you  the  benefit  of  that  doubt  at  the  proper  time 
and  place,"  said  the  Judge,  sternly  p  "  and  I  claim  the  right 
to  use  it  now,  for  my  own  protection.  Would  you  have  me 
place  you  on  a  level  with  a  man  whose  integrity  was  never 
doubted  ?  That  would  be  equivalent  to  a  premium  on  dis- 
honesty. I  will  not  employ  a  man  I  cannot  trust,  and  I 
cannot  trust  you." 

Taking  up  the  newspaper,  he  turned  his  chair  to  the  fire, 
and  appeared  to  pore  over  its  contents. 

"  As  I'm  a  living  man,  believing  in  a  future,"  said  Ernest 
Grey,  with  solemn  energy,  and  a  tone  scarcely  above  a 
whisper, — "  I  am  innocent  of  the  crime  laid  to  my  charge — 
innocent  in  thought,  or  deed,  in  whole,  or  part.  I  was 


ERNEST  GREY.  143 

poor — if  that  is  a  ground  for  suspicion,  Heaven  knows  they 
had  grounds  enough." 

The  Judge  made  no  reply,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
paper,  as  if  it  were  the  sole  subject  of  his  thoughts. 

'"If  yon,"  continued  Grey,  "who  know  the  facts,  and 
who  know  how  unsafe  it  is  to  trust  the  clearest  circumstan- 
tial evidence — if  you  discredit  your  own  verdict,  to  whom 
can  I  apply  ?  Who  will  listen  to  me  ?  Who  will  trust 

me  ?  And  think I  may  be  innocent ;  but  how  long 

can  I  remain  so  ?  My  wife  is  dying — my  child  is  in  want 
— hunger  and  despair  are  at  my  heart ;  and  what  desperate 
counselors  they  are,  the  prosperous  can  never  dream.  I 
cannot  answer  for  myself.  Believe  me  guilty  if  you  will, 
but  give  me  a  chance  to  do  better.  Do  not  drive  me  into 
crime." 

"I  have  listened  to  you  quite  long  enough,"  said  the 
Judge,  rising  ;  "  and  I  think  it  time  for  this  interview  to 
end.  That  I,  in  the  course  of  my  official  duty,  discharged 
you  from  confinement,  is  no  proof  that  I  presumed  you  inno- 
cent. Protestations  have  no  weight  with  me — one  proof 
is  worse  than  a  thousand,  and  I  have  invariably  remarked 
that  those  who  are  loudest  in  protesting,  are  least  deserving 
of  credit.  You  may  be  innocent — it  is  quite  possible  ;  but 
the  threats  you  threw  out  incline  me  to  doubt  it.  It  is 
evident  that  virtue  with  you  is  a  matter  of  speculation. 
You  can  coolly  foresee  the  time  you  will  be  guilty,  if  not  so 


144       THE  JUDGE  AND  THE  ACCUSED. 

already  ;  and  calculate  how  much,  or  how  little  you'll 
endure,  before  you  violate  the  laws  of  your  country.  As 
to  being  driven  into  crime — that  is  one  of  the  philanthropic 
cants  of  the  day,  with  which  I  have  no  sympathy.  He 
who  has  erred  once  must  submit  to  a  probation." 

"  That  is  all  I  ask,  or  wish  for,"  replied  Grey.  "  Try 
me — give  me  but  a  chance  to  re-establish  my  character — 
give  me  work." 

"  I  Answered  you  on  that  point  already.  I  could  not,  in 
justice  to  you  or  to  myself,  place  you  in  a  position  of 
responsibility,  where  the  trust  and  the  temptation  are  about 
equal." 

"  I  shrink  from  no  trust — I  fear  no  temptation,"  said 
Grey,  vehemently.  "  If  I  were  the  veriest  demon,  trust 
me,  and  yon  humanize  me." 

For  a  moment  the  suspicions  of  the  Judge  gave  way 
before  the  feelings  of  the  man,  and  he  was  half-inclined  to 
grant  the  request  so  earnestly  urged  ;  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment— the  next  consideration  came,  and  Grey's  very  urgency 
told  against  him.  Men  don't  covet  trust  solely  to  prove 
themselves  trustworthy,  whispered  suspicion,  and  that  set- 
tled the  question. 

"  I  cannot  depart  from  my  settled  rule  of  action  in  your 
behalf,"  he  said.  "  You  are  not  the  first  who  has  promised 
boldly,  but  promise  and  performance  are  two  different 
things,  and  those  who  are  proficient  in  one,  rarely  excel  in 


SnE  RAISED  HERSELF  IN  THE  RED,  FH'NC,  HER  ARMS  WILD- 
LY VPWARD,  AND  EXCLAIMED  IN  ACCENTS  THAT  THRILLED  THE 
HEARTS  OF  HER  LISTENERS,  "Oil.  F.KNT-T  !  F.RNEST! 


ERNEST   GREY.  14.5 

tfie  other.  Besides,  I  would  not  consider  myself  justified  ; 
I  would  not  be  fulfilling  my  duty  to  society,  if  I  preferred 
you  to  worthier  men." 

"  Would  to  Heaven  1"  exclaimed  Ernest  Grey,  impetu- 
ously, "  you  had  thought  of  your  duty  to  society  when  I 
was  in  the  dock.  Had  you  been  as  careful  of  its  interests 
as  your  own,  I  had  been  still  inside  the  prison.  But  now, 
thanks  to  your  clemency,  I  am  free — free  to  starve — free 
to  steal — free  to  sink,  and  sink  and  sink,  till  I  reach  the 
lowest  hell  of  infamy.  But  am  I  free  to  work,  or  to  remain 
guiltless,  as  the  law  says  I  am  ?  Do  you  think  because  I'm 
poor  that  I  cannot  feel  for  my  own  as  keenly  as  the  wealth- 
iest merchant  of  New  York  ?  and  do  you  think  that,  being 
human,  I  can  look  tamely  on  and  see  them  die  by  inches, 
without  making  one  effort  to  save  them  ?  No  ;  self-pres- 
ervation is  the  first  law  of  nature,  and  they  are  dearer  to 
me  than  my  life.  I  will  save  them  at  all  hazards.  I  call 
Heaven  to  witness  that,  to  get  leave  to  work,  I  have  hum- 
bled myself  until  I  have  become  mean  in  my  own  eyes,  and 
what  was  the  result  ? — insult  and  derision.  If  I  ask  for 
alms,  I  am  told  to  work  ;  if  I  ask  for  work,  I  am  told  to 
follow  my  old  trade.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Everywhere  it 
is  the  same.  The  prison  spews  me  out  because  there  is  a 
doubt  of  my  guilt,  the  world  flings  me  off  because  there  is  a 
doubt  of  my  innocence.  Good  morning,  Judge  ;  if  we  ever 
meet  again,  there  may  be  no  room  for  doubt." 


146          EIINEST   GEEY   IN   THE   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  and  left  that  room  a  desperate 
man.  Out  into  the  open  air,  that  blew  so  keen  and  cold,  and 
beneath  the  unclouded  clearness  of  the  wintry  sky  !  He 
bared  his  throbbing  temples  to  the  wind,  and  wished  it 
were  a  tempest,  a  deluge,  a  hurricane  of  hail.  If  the  four 
winds  of  Heaven  were  to  meet,  and  in  their  wild  struggles 
form  a  whirling  eddying  vortex,  something  akin  to  the 
maddening  maelstrom  of  his  own  mind,  it  would  have 
soothed  him.  But  that  nature  should  be  so  calm  when  he 
was  convulsed,  so  still  when  he  was  agitated,  that  the  out- 
ward world  should  be  so  little  in  unison  with  his  feelings, 
seemed  strange  and  unnatural.  He  would  have  given 
worlds,  had  he  possessed  them,  to  see  the  flood-gates  of 
Heaven  opened,  and  to  feel  the  rain  beat  in  torrents  upon 
his  uncovered  head.  But  let  who  will  sorrow,  the  seasons 
take  their  course,  summer  roses  blush  above  the  dead,  and 
winter's  gay  chrysanthemums,  flowering  mid  the  snow, 
make  many  a  grave-yard  pleasant. 

On  he  passed  through  that  synonyme  for  New  York 
wealth  and  luxury,  the  Fifth  Avenue,  with  its  rows  of 
splendid  houses  grouped  together  in  gregarious  grandeur, 
each  adding  lustre  to  the  other — its  magnificent  monotony 
broken  up  and  relieved,  at  intervals,  by  detached  mansions 
standing  isolated  and  apart,  disdaining  to  merge  their 
individuality  in  the  aggregate  mass  of  stone  and  lime  that 
make  up  that  fashionable  thoroughfare.  Gay  equipages, 


ERNEST   GRET.  147 

freighted  with  fair,  but  etiolated  human  blossoms,  rattled 
over  the  stony  street ;  gentlemen  sauntered  up  and  down, 
alternately  twirling  their  canes  and  mustaches  ;  and  elderly 
ladies,  in  furs  that  erewhile  "  warmed  a  bear,"  moved  on 
nervously,  anxious  about  some  poodle  plump  as  a  Hebe,  or 
greyhound  slim  as  a  sylph,  that  accompanied  th  m.  In 
that  sacred  locality  stores  and  traffic  were  not,  the  clang 
of  the  hammer  and  the  grating  of  the  saw  were  apocryphal 
sounds,  and  the  roar  of  the  busy  city  died  away  into  a 
murmur  soft  as  the  sound  of  a  receding  wave,  ere  it  reached 
these  castles  of  Indolence.  Through  this  avenue  did  Ernest 
Grey  pass,  himself  the  strangest  object  there — strange  as  a 
spectre  seen  at  noon-day — and  gazed  upon  the  marble 
stoops  elaborately  carved,  and  the  double  windows  exquis- 
itely draped  with  the  blended  products  of  France  and 
Belgium.  But  now  the  gas  is  lit,  and  delicate  Corinthian 
pillars,  graceful  statues,  "  pictures  that  throw  Italian  light " 
upon  the  walls,  and 

"  Many  a  mirror  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
Goliah,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk. 
Whole,  without  stooping,  towering  creat  and  all," 

become  visible.  Lovely,  laughing  groups,  whose  sweet 
faces  are  still  fresh  with  the  morning  dew  of  childhood,  are 
there,  and  as  the  eye  of  that  miserable  man  lingered,  in  a 
sort  of  fearful  fascination,  on  the  scene,  his  mind  turned  to 
the  cellar-basement  where  cowered  his  wife  and  child,  and 


ERNEST   GEEY   IN   THE   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

he  asked  himself  could  they  be  of  the  same  nature,  formed 
of  the  same  clay,  and  made  by  the  same  Creator  as  the 
joyous  groups  before  him.  Why  were  those  so  scourged, 
and  these  so  favored  ?  Why,  indeed  1  Ah,  Ernest  Grey, 
the  answer  to  that  question  would  unriddle  the  mystery  of 
life. 

With  the  idea  of  his  wife  and  child  came  the  desire  to 
return  home,  but  alas,  he  had  nothing,  not  even  hope,  to 
bring  with  him,  he  was  an  Ishmael  among  his  brethren,  a 
pariah  among  his  kind,  and  from  the  bitterness  of  feeling 
engendered  by  such  thoughts,  arose  scorn  of  his  own  pa- 
tience and  bitter  self-disdain. 

As  he'  reached  home  he  met  the  doctor,  and  anxiously 
inquired  about  his  wife. 

"  She  is  very  low,"  was  the  careless  reply  ;  "  this  frosty 
weather  is  unfavorable  for  her,  but  what  she  wants  particu- 
larly, is  nourishment.  If  she  had  that,  she  would  get 
along." 

"  Then  she  shall  have  it,"  replied  Grey,  with  stern  de- 
termination. 

Turning  from  the  door,  he  proceeded  to  a  large  grocery 
store  in  the  neighborhood,  and  without  embarrassment  or 
hesitation,  made  known  his  request.  The  person  he  ad- 
dressed was  far  from  unfeeling,  but  there  was  a  startling 
abruptness,  a  latent  fierceness  in  Grey's  manner,  to  which 
bis  own  "kind  but  superficial  feelings  gave  him  no  clue,  and 


ERNEST  GREY.  149 

deeming  the  intruder  an  insolent  street-beggar,  who  would 
force  him  to  give  by  threatening  to  take,  he  refused  unhesi- 
tatingly. The  clerk  was  examining  a  bill  when  Grey 
entered,  and  it  now  lay  upon  the  counter.  The  temptation 
was  irresistible — he  seized  it  and  rushed  from  the  store, 
followed  by  the  clerk,  whose  cry  of  "  Stop  thief"  soon 
gathered  a  crowd.  They  pursued  their  prey  with  the  keen 
relish  of  sportsmen,  and  gradually  gained  upon  him1 — nearer 
and  nearer  they  came  every  step,  and  in  less  time  than 
we  have  taken  to  describe  it,  Ernest  Grey  was  again  a 
prisoner. 

Let  not  the  reader  judge  him  too  harshly — he  was  but  a 
man  whose  very  strength  became  his  weakness  ;  and  had 
he  been  the  only  sufferer,  no  extremity  could  have  driven 
him  to  such  an  act.  Alas,  there  is  no  class  in  society  whom 
we  suspect  so  readily,  and  from  whom  we  expect  so  much, 
as  the  poor.  Strange  contradiction  1  Even  those  who 
would  have  succumbed  to  one-twentieth  part  of  the  tempta- 
tion, join  in  the  general  cry,  and  seize  the  opportunity  to 
prove  their  own  virtue  by  their  abhorrence  of  another's 
vice.  "To  err  is  human:"  what  wonder,  therefore,  that 
Ernest  Grey  erred,  placed  as  he  was,  like  Tantalus  amid 
luxuries,  he  dared  neither  touch  nor  taste,  starving  in  the 
midst  of  plenty,  enduring  in  a  Christian  land  tortures  which 
were  considered  by  heathens  fit  punishment  for  the  damned. 
Let  us  think  gently  of  the  fallen — 


150  THE  TOMBS. 

"  What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
We  know  not  what's  resisted." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  concerning  Grey's  guilt — the 
money  was  found  in  his  possession,  the  charge  against  him 
was  clear  and  self-evident,  and  he  was  once  more  committed 
to  the  Tombs.  In  vain  he  entreated  permission  to  see  his 
wife,  if  it  were  but  for  a  moment ;  the  police,  regarding 
him  as  a  hardened  offender,  did  not  vouchsafe  a  reply. 
Passing  through  many  streets  reeking  with  filth  and  filled 
with  miserable,  squalid  creatures,  the  motley  procession  at 
last  reached  the  Tombs. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

EXCITING    NEWS    IN    SHORT'S    ALLEY. DEATH    0^ 

MRS.    GREY. 

GREAT  was  the  uproar  and  commotion  in  Short's  Alley, 
when  it  received  intelligence  of  Ernest  Grey's  second  im- 
prisonment. With  what  virtuous  acrimony  they  denounc- 
ed, with  what  pious  animosity  they  reviled  him  !  They 
knew  him  all  along  :  he  had  never  deceived  them — they 
never  liked  him  from  the  first — that  they  must  say.  "  I 
don't  believe  in  people  that  think  themselves  better  than 
other  folks,"  said  one — "  still  water  runs  deep,"  said 
another  ;  and,  "  who  would  have  thought  it,"  added  a 
third.  And  so  it  passed  from  one  to  another,  and  the  alley 
had  a  holiday,  which  was  spent  in  wondering  what  the 
world  would  come  to,  and  thanking  God  they  were  not  as 
others  were.  Some  bore  testimony  to  their  own  merits 
with  a  modest  pride,  while  others  besprinkled  their  dis- 
course with  self  laudations,  introduced  surreptitiously  ; 
and  others  again,  artistic  in  virtuous  vanity,  brought  into 
view  their  excellencies,  merely  as  a  relief  to  the  dark  back- 


152  EXCITING   NEWS. 

ground  of  human  frailty.  Yet  there  was  one  pleasant 
feature  in  the  case — it  proved  beyond  a  doubt  the  people 
were  not  to  be  deceived  by  externals.  Penetration,  sagac- 
ity, and  insight  into  character  were  theirs — they  knew  all 
the  time  how  it  would  end — they  looked  and  saw,  and 
said  nothing — what  business  was  it  of  theirs. 

It  was  not  long  before  Lizzy  Roberts  heard  all.  What 
could  it  mean  ?  She  knBw  not-  what  to  think.  It  was 
strange  that  he  should  be  twice  accused  ;  but  to  her  trust- 
ing mind  not  half  so  strange  as  that  he  should  be  once 
guilty. 

"  I  fear  there's  some  truth  in  it  this  time,"  said  Mar- 
garet, gently. 

"  Not  the  shadow  of  truth — you  do  not  know  him  or 
you  would  not  say  so." 

Margaret  said  no  more,  for  Lizzy's  agitated  countenance 
denoted  that  she  was  greatly  discomposed. 

"  To  hear  them,"  she  said,  after  a  pause  ;  "  they  seemed 
to  feel  glad  to  have  something  to  talk  about.  They  would 
not  listen  to  a  word  in  his  favor — they  were  sure  he  did  it." 

"  Of  course — that's  natural,  Lizzy.  Human  beings  are 
like  wolves  :  when  one  of  the  pack  is  wounded  they  rend 
him  to  pieces.  But  where  was  he  taken  ?  You  might 
make  out,  Mrs.  Grey,  if  you  knew.  Poor  thing  !  I  pity 
her  from  my  heart." 

"  I  must  put  away  my  work  and  try,  no  matter  what 


ERNEST  OBEY.  153 

happens.  Jane  wouldn't  lose  a  minute  in  coming  to  me. 
Oh  dear  !  I  fear  I'm  getting  very  hardened,  to  even  think 
about  myself  and  my  paltry  work  at  such  a  time." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  Lizzy — the  walk  will  do  me  good, 
for  my  side  is  so  bad  I  can  scarcely  breathe." 

We  will  not  follow  them  in  their  search  ;  suffice  it,  that 
having  found  the  store  on  which  the  robbery  was  com- 
mitted, they  soon  discovered  Mrs.  Grey's  abode. 

The  moment  they  darkened  the  door,  Steve  recognized 
his  old  favorite,  and  screaming  with  surprise  he  ran  to  her, 
and  hid  his  face  in  her  bosom.  On  the  pallet  lay  Jane, 
apparently  unconcions  of  even  Steve's  presence,  and  by  the 
bed  stood  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  bathing  the  burning  temples  of 
the  poor  invalid,  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  repress  her 
own  tears.  Two  or  three  women  were  about  the  room, 
and  occasionally  they  would  approach  the  bed,  glance  at 
the  sufferer — then  at  each  other,  and  sagely  shake  their 
heads  and  sigh — "  there  was  no  hope."  And  they  were 
right — death  was  in  every  feature. 

Five  minutes  had  not  elapsed  from  her  husband's  cap- 
ture till  she  was  made  acquainted  with  it,  and  that  incau- 
tiously. The  consequence  of  it  was  easy  to  foresee.  The 
anguish  of  her  mind  increased  the  fever,  and  now  Jane 
Grey  had  not  many  minutes  to  live.  Death  had  passed  the 
tlireshhold  and  stood  amongst  them,  and  awed  by .  his 
dread  presence,  watchors  and  mourners  moved  on  tiptoe 


154  DEATH   OF  MRS.   GREY. 

and  spoke  in  whispers.  The  air  was  heavy,  as  if  crowded 
with  unseen  spirits,  and  the  convulsive  gasps  of  the  dying 
woman,  told  the  struggles  of  the  impatient  soul  to  burst 
its  prison,  for  well  it  knew  the  advent  of  its  liberator. 

Silently  the  young  girls  stood,  tearless  spectators  of 
the  dread  conflict  whose  issue  all  foresaw.  But  when  the 
child,  dimly  conscious  of  the  appalling  change,  clung  to 
his  mother,  entreating  her  not  to  go,  their  over-wrought 
feelings  found  relief  in  tears.  "  Not  to  go " — where  ? 
Strange — "  above  measure  strange,"  that  the  first  idea  of 
death  in  a  child's  mind  is  inseparably  connected  with  depart- 
ure. Whence  comes  it  ?  Innate  it  must  be,  for  it  is  universal. 

The  minutes  passed  away  heavily,  like  hours.  For  a 
moment  conciousness  seemed  to  revisit  the  dying  woman, 
and  her  eyes  turned  with  a  gleam  of  intelligence  to  the 
familiar  faces  around  her  ;  then  wandered  as  if  in  search 
of  one  more  loved,  and  at  last  lingered  with  deathless  fond- 
ness on  the  youthful  face  that  nestled  by  her  side. 

"  My  child  !  my  child  ! "  she  murmured  at  intervals,  who 
will  love  you — who  will  mind  you  when  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  sobbed  Lizzy  Roberts.  "  I  will  love  him 
dearly,  and  I  will  mind  him  the  best  I  can." 

"  Don't  fret  about  him,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  earnestly  ; 
"  while  God  spares  me  my  health,  he'll  not  want,  no  more 
thaji  if  he  was  my  own  child.  Make  your  mind  easy  about 
him." 


EUNEST   GREY.  155 

The  dying  woman  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  a 
smile  irradiated  her  wasted  features.  For  a  few  minutes 
she  lay  without  motion — then  with  a  sudden,  superhuman 
effort,  she  half  raised  herself  in  the  bed,  flung  her  arms 
wildly  upwards,  and  exclaimed  in  accents  that  thrilled  the 
hearts  of  her  hearers  : 

"  Oh,  Ernest  !  Ernest  !  " 

It  was  the  last  flicker  of  the  dying  taper — the  last  ray 
of  the  setting  soul — the  next  moment  she  fell  back  exhaust- 
ed— there  was  a  hollow  gurgling  sound — a  deep  drawn 
gasping  sigh,  and  ere  the  echo  of  that  beloved  name 
ceased  to  vibrate  on  her  ear,  the  spirit  of  Jane  Grey 
had  winged  its  flight  to  another  world.  Death,  took  his 
station  by  the  bed,  and  Time  and  Eternity  touched  hands 
across  it. 

Never  was  there  more  sincere  sorrow  for  the  dead  than 
in  that  humble  room  ;  never  was  sympathy  for  the  survivors 
more  true  and  genuine. 

"  She's  dead  P  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  closing  the  eyes. 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  she  ain't,"  screamed  Steve  ;  "  I  tell  you 
she  ain't.  Mother  !  mother  !  waken — oh,  won't  you  waken 
up  ?"  And  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears,  he  flung  his 
arras  about  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  cold  lips  again  and 
again.  Finding  his  entreaties  unheeded,  and  his  caresses 
unretunied,  he  .had  recourse  to  Lizzy  Roberts. 

"  You  come/'  he  said,  ratreatingly,  pulling  her  to  the  bed- 


156  DEATH   OF   MRS.    GEEY. 

side — "  and  speak  to  her,  and  she  will  waken  up — I  know 
she  will.  Won't  you  waken  her,  Lizzy  ?" 

Lizzy  Roberts7  forced  composure  vanished  before  this 
artless  appeal,  and  clasping  the  child  in  her  arms,  she 
mingled  her  tears  with  his.  Soothed  by  her  sympathy, 
his  stormy  sorrow  gradually  subsided,  and  he  cried  himself 
to  sleep. 

Mrs.  Grey's  death  was  soon  known  around  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  throughout  the  evening  women  came  dropping 
in,  by  twos  and  threes,  to  see  the  corpse.  Stealthily  they 
moved  about  the  room,  as  if  afraid  to  disturb  the  dead,  or 
stood  gazing  on  the  rigid  features  so  late  instinct  with  life, 
their  minds  stirred  by  a  vague,  indefinite  sense  of  mystery, 
strange,  yet  familiar.  And  children,  fearful  they  knew  not 
why,  crept  in,  and  peered  from  distant  corners  at  the  life- 
less form,  until  at  last,  grown  bold,  they  ventured  nearer, 
and  clinging  close  to  their  mothers,  glanced  with  frightened 
curiosity  at  the  object  that  repelled  and  attracted  them. 

Many  of  the  women  had  never  seen  Jane  alive,  but  they 
unanimously  agreed  that  she  was  very  like  herself,  and  each 
remarked  that  it  was  a  happy  exchange,  and  that  every- 
thing was  for  the  best.  How  easy  it  is  to  be  resigned  for 
others  ! — with  what  Christian  fortitude  we  bear  up  against 
evils  we  do  not  share  !  how  light  seems  the  hand  of  God 
when  not  laid  upon  ourselves.  Then  each  person  had  some 
trifling  remark  of  her's  to  record,  which  they  didn't  mind 


EKNEST   GREY.  IS'7 

at  the  time,  but  which  struck  them  afterwards  as  being 
strange  ;  and  lugubrious  anecdotes,  suited  to  the  solemn 
scene,  were  circulated,  and  persons  dead  and  forgotten 
years  ago,  recalled  to  memory  ;  and  dreams  were  told — 
some  shadowy  and  mystical — others  vivid  and  distinct  as 
reality  itself. 

They  stopped  for  hours,  but  at  last  all  were  gone,  and 
through  the  long,  bitter  night,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  Lizzy 
Roberts  and  Margaret  kept  solemn  watch  by  the  dead. 

"  If  she  had  only  spoken  one  word  to  me — if  she  had 
only  once  called  me  by  name,"  said  Lizzy  Roberts  to  her 
two  companions,  "  I  wouldn't  feel  so  bad  ;  but  to  die  think- 
ing me  unkind." 

"  She  never  thought  that,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  kindly 
— "  never.  She  knew  better — she  blamed  it  on  the  sew- 
ing ;  and  if  I  heard  her  say  that  once,  I  heard  her  say  it  a 
dozen  times." 

"  Poor  little  fellow  I"  said  Margaret,  as  the  child  sobbed 
in  his  sleep — "  what  will  become  of  him  ?" 
-  "  He  shan't  want  while  I  have  a  morsel,"  said  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald. "My  only  child  lies  in  a  far-off  grave,  and  if  I 
didn't  love  Stephen  Grey  for  his  own  and  his  mother's  sake, 
— and  for  the  matter  of  that — for  his  father's  toor — I  would 
for  his.  Glad  I'd  be  to  see  him  well  done  for,  but  until 
some  one  can  do  better  for  him  than  I  can,  I'll  keep  him, 
or,  any  way,  till  his  father  gets  out  of  prison." 


158  MRS.  GREY'S  DEATH. 

"  I  intended  to  take  Steve  borne  with  me,"  said  Lizzy. 

"  You  !  Lord  love  you — to  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Don't  I  know  what  sewing  is — and  your  poor  mother, 
too  !" 

"  My  mother  is  no  trouble  to  me  now,"  said  Lizzy,  sadly 
— "  she's  dead." 

"  Dear  me  1  Poor  thing  ! "  said  the  pitying  listener  ; 
"  you  have  your  own  troubles.  When  did  she  die  ? " 

"  Soon  after  Mrs.  Grey  left  ;  and  every  day  since,  I 
have  new  reasons  to  be  thankful  for  it." 

Why  need  we  repeat  poor  Lizzy  Roberts  tale  of  grief. 

The  night  wore  heavily  away,  the  lamps  burned  dimly 
in  the  greyish  light  of  morning — another  day  was  coming, 
and  the  busy  hum  of  life  without,  contrasted  strikingly 
with  the  solemn  silence  that  reigned  in  that  chamber  of 
death — another  day  was  coming,  and  the  prelude  to  the 
stirring  drama  of  city  life  had  commenced.  Why  dwell 
upon  the  events  of  that  day — the  silent  sorrow  of  the 
women — the  passionate  grief  of  the  child — the  pauper's 
coffin,  and  the  pauper's  grave. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    SEWING   GIRLS    IX   MR.    CLEMENTS. — MR.   HAMILTON   AND 
THE    APPLE. THE    COUSINS. WHICH    IS    IT. 

MARGARET  LINWOOD  and  Lizzy  Roberts,  were  sewing  a  few 
days  after  Mrs.  Grey's  death,  in  a  luxuriously  furnished 
bed-room  in  Mr.  Clements'  palatial  residence  on  the  Fifth 
Avenue.  Around  them  was  the  warmth  of  early  summer, 
and  all  the  floral  bloom  and  brightness  of  that  sunny  sea- 
son glowed  beneath  their  feet.  Clouds  of  filmy  muslin 
from  the  looms  of  Deccan  and  Hyderabad,  white  and  soft 
as  snow-wreaths,  were  piled  beside  them,  and  through  it 
ever  and  anon  flashed  the  remorseless  scissors — able  pioneer 
to  the  polished  needle,  that  ever  followed  in  its  wake. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  said  Lizzy  Roberts,  "  but 
ever  since  Jane's  death,  I  feel  as  if  my  own  life  was  more 
uncertain,  more  insecure.  Of  course,  I  always  knew  that 
I  should  die  some  time  ;  but  since  then  I  seem  to  feel  it. 
'Seems  to  me  that  I  am  nearer  to  death  now  than  I  was 
before." 


160  THE   SEWING   GIRLS. 

"  And  so  you  are,  Lizzy  ;  each  day  brings  us  nearer  to 
our  goal." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  it  is  not  that,  Margaret — not 
exactly  that,  but  I  feel  as  if — don't  you  remember  that 
story  of  the  Irou  Shroud  you  told  me — how  each  day  a 
window  disappeared,  and  the  walls  closed  in,  and  at  last 
entombed  the  unfortunate  being  who  was  imprisoned  within 
it  ?  Well,  ever  since,  I  feel  as  that  man  must  have  felt, 
when  he  first  observed  it. 

"  Lizzy  !  Lizzy  !  I  didn't  think  life  was  so  dear  to  you. 
It  is  '  nature's  privilege  to  die.'  But  drop  that  dreary  sub- 
ject— I  want  to  talk  of  something  else.  What  young 
lady  recommended  us  to  Miss  Clements  ?  " 

"  Miss  Mason,  the  young  lady  that  attended  store  in 
Mr.  Sharpe's — she  that  always  spoke  so  kind." 

"  I  remember.  Did  she  give  you  the  umbrella  you  prize 
so  highly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ! — a  young  man  gave  me  that,  and  I  do  prize 
it  highly  for  his  sake." 

"  That's  candid,  Lizzy,  at  all  events.  And  who  may 
he  be  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did  ;  but  I  know  he  is  kind- 
hearted,  or  he  wouldn't  have  cared  about  any  body  that 
looked  so  wretched  and  miserable  as  I  did  that  morning. 
I  know  it  was  because  I  was  so  poorly  clad,  that  he  made 
me  take  that  umbrella,  and  I  know  I  have  often  passed 


ERNEST  GREY.  161 

gentlemen  when  I  was  dripping  wet,  and  have  seen  them 
turn  round  to  look  and  laugh.  I  shall  keep  that  umbrella 
until  I  see  him,  if  I  ever  see  him  again." 

"  Maybe  you  wouldn't  know  him." 

'•  I'd  know  him  any  where,  Margaret  ;  I'd  know  him 
any  time.  I  wasn't  so  used  to  kindness,  that  I  should  take 
it  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  What  was  he  like  ?  If  handsome,  I'd  begin  to  be 
afrtlid,  Liz." 

"  He  wasn't  handsome,  but  he  was  better  than  handsome. 
He  had  a  kind  look  and  a  pleasant  smile,  and  he  behaved 
so  kindly  that,  after  I  got  home,  I  cried — oh,  dear  !  how  I 
cried.  It  was  so  strange  to  meet  kindness  from  anybody, 
that  I  don't  know  how  I  felt.  Oh  !  Margaret,  I  remem- 
ber every  kind  word  that  anybody  ever  said  to  me  of 
late." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you,  Liz,  and  it  is  not.  a  very  heavy  tax 
on  your  memory  But,  tell  me  something  more  about  this 
Knight  of  the  Umbrella." 

"I  haven't  anything  more  to  tell.  I  never  saw  him 
since.  Poor  Ernest  Grey  knew  him,  and  would  have 
returned  it  to  him,  but  his  own  misfortune  happened  just 
then.  Oh,  dear  !  when  I  think  of  the  evening  1  brought 
that  umbrella  down  to  him,  and  how  Steve  wanted  to  have 
it,  and  bow  his  father  talked  to  him  about  it,  and  made  the 
child  himself  see  how  wicked  it  was  to  wish  for  it,  and  how 


162  THE   SEWING   GIRLS. 

proud  Jane  was  of  both  in  the  middle  of  her  sorrow — when 
I  think  of  it " 

And  Lizzy  Roberts,  overcome  by  remembrance,  wept 
long  and  bitterly.  During  the  conversation,  however,  the 
work  proceeded — the  needle  flew  with  marvelous  rapidity 
through  the  gauzy  fabric,  and  the  busy  fingers  knew  no 
pause. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  sit  in  this  room,  and  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  blue  sky  by  times,  Liz,  with  its  fleets  of 
flying  clouds,  or  its  hosts  of  glittering  stars.  It  is  a  luxury 
to  look  upon  the  broad  heavens.  Lift  your  eyes  from 
your  work  for  one  minute,  and  look  through  the  window. 
If  we  had  that  window  in  our  little  attic,  in  place  of  the 
hole  in  the  roof,  through  which  we  can  see*  a  star  at  a 
time,  if  we  looked  long  enough — wouldn't  we  be  stylish, 
Liz  ?" 

"  I  should  think  we  would,  Margaret,  but  our  own  little 
window  is  very  good." 

"  Oh  !  too  good.  It  catches  a  stray  sunbeam  for  us  once 
in  a  while,  and  I  do  verily  believe  I  have  seen  the  tail-end 
of  a  cloud  through  it  more  than  once.  It  is  too  good  for 
us  by  far  :  it  takes  a  lady  in  a  silk  dress,  or  a  white  musliu 
one,  to  gaze  at  the  moon  :  there  can  be  no  sympathy  be- 
tween sixpenny  calico  and  the  stars.  Do  you  think  there 
can  ?  do  you  think  none  but  carriage  folks  can  love  flowers  ? 
You  are  too  cunning  to  answer,  Liz  ;  but  I  can  tell  you, 


ERNEST   GREY.  163 

no  country  girl  '  stops  her  nose  at  beds  of  violets' — it  takes 
fine  ladies  to  do  that.  Do  you  love  the  country  ?" 

"  Love  it,  Margaret !  I  guess  I  do,"  replied  Liz,  with 
animation.  "  I  love  every  blade  of  grass,  and  every  wild 
flower,  and  every  weed  in  it." 

"  If  you  had  forgotten  the  weeds,  I  wouldn't  have  given 
a  fig  for  your  love." 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  dream  of  it.  I  wonder  I 
never  do  ;  but  it  is  always  the  weary  sewing  night  and  day 
— I  dream  of  nothing  else." 

"  Not  even  of  the  Knight  of  the  Umbrella  ?"  said  Mar- 
garet, watching  curiously  the  effect  of  her  remark.  But 
she  might  as  well  have  spared  herself  the  trouble,  for  Lizzy 
never  looked  up  from  her  work,  and  didn't  seem  to  hear  it. 
Margaret  repeated  the  question. 

"  No  ;  I  only  think  of  him." 

"  Only  1  "Well,  that's  not  much.  What  do  you  think 
about  him  ?" 

"I  think  I  should  like  to  see  him  again,  and  thank  him," 
said  Lizzy,  quietly,  "  for  I  believe  that  people  show  their 
real  nature  in  trifles." 

While  the  sewing  girls  were  busy  above,  an  animated 
conversation  was  going  on  in  the  parlors.  Mrs.  Clements 
had  determined  to  give  a  ball,  and  though  sinking  under 
'  the  insupportable  fatigue  of  thought '  consequent  thereon, 
held  to  her  determination  with  laudable  firmness.  She  had 


164    MRS.  CLEMENTS  AND  HER  DAUGHTER. 

taken  her  heaped-up  list  of  friends  and  winnowed  it,  thor- 
oughly separated  the  chaff  from  the  wheat,  and  issued  her 
invitations  accordingly. 

"Mother,"  said  Agatha,  remonstrating,  "you  are  for- 
getting some  of  our  best  friends.  Why  don't  you  ask  the 
Leesons  ?" 

""How  simple  you  are,  Agatha  !  Because  they  are  not 
com-me  ilfaut.  Who  ever  heard  of  them  ?  They  do  very 
well  for  a  quiet  evening  party  ;  but  in  a  case  of  this  kind, 
we  should  do  with  our  friends  as  we  do  with  our  flowers — 
cull  a  bouquet  of  the  choicest  and  rarest.  Daisies  and 
daffodils  are  very  well  in  their  place  ;  but  this  is  not  their 
place.  I  have  sacrificed  rny  own  feelings  without  a  murmur, 
and  I  expect  that  you  will  not  be  less  magnanimous.  Much 
as  I  like  Mrs.  Wilson,  I  have  not  asked  her,  though  she  is 
such  a  sympathetic  soul,  and  feels  for  niy  sufferings  much 
more,  I  must  say,  than  any  member  of  my  own  family — 
still  I  have  not  asked  her.  What  do  you  say,  Emily  ?"  she 
inquired,  turning  to  a  bright-eyed  girl  who  was  examining 
some  new  music. 

.  "  For  pity's  sake,  aunt,  don't  ask  her  ;  she  is  a  bore. 
When  listening  to  her,  I  fancy  I'm  reading  the  annals  of  a 
hospital,  and  the  index  to  an  herbarium,  beaten  up  together, 
like  the  white  and  yelk  of  an  egg.  Why  don't  you  consult 
Robert  ?" 

"  Oh,  Robert  has  been  from  home  these  last  two  months," 


ERNEST   GREY.  165 

replied  Agatha,  "  He  went  to  Charleston  without  giving 
us  the  least  intimation  of  his  design  ;  but  he  will  be  home 
in  time  :  we  expect  him  next  week." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  cousult  Mr.  Hamilton  ?" 

"  Consult  me  L    About  what  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  Hear  him,  as  if  he  didn't  know.  Why,  all  the  time  he 
was  pretending  to  be  immersed  in  that  book,  he  was  peep- 
ing slyly  over  the  leaves  at  Agatha,  or  me — which  ? — '  as  I 
am  Egypt's  queen,  thou  blushest,  Antony' — which  ?  '  tell 
truth  and  shame' — ah  1  that's  a  naughty  quotation." 

"  Never  mind  her,  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  you  know  what  a 
mad-cap  she  always  was.  You  remember  how  she  behaved 
last  summer,"  said  Agatha,  anxious  to  turn  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  How  quickly  you  come  to  Mr.  Hamilton's  rescue,  cousin 
mine.  Let  Mr.  Hamilton  fight  his  own  battles,  and  don't 
you  take  such  an  interest  in  him.  What,  you  blushing, 
too,  Agatha  !  Would  you  desire  better  sympathy,  Mr. 
Hamilton  ?" 

"  Emily  !"  said  Agatha,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 

"  Don't  scold  me,  cousin  ;  one  glance  at  your  counte- 
nance is  as  good  as  a  lecture.  Which  were  you  admiring, 
Mr.  Hamilton  ?» 

"  Both,  Miss  North." 

"  You  are  a  Machiavel,  I  see  ;  but  a  woman  would  be 
an  over-match  for  Machiavel  himself.  Here  is  an  apple  ;" 


166  MB.    HAMILTON   AND   THE    APPLE. 

lifting  one  from  the  silver  salver,  and  passing  it  to  him — 
"now  if  you  were  Paris,  which  of  us  would  get  that 
apple  ?" 

"  Either  you  or  Miss  Clements  shall  get  it  within  two 
weeks,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  earnestly,  putting  it  carefully  in 
his  pocket  as  he  spoke. 

"  Now,  heaven  preserve  us  from  a  proposal !"  exclaimed 
Emily,  with  affected  terror.  "  Matrimony  is  in  the  solemn 
tones  of  that  man's  voice.  Beware  what  you  do  !  I  give 
you  fair  warning  that,  if  you  present  that  apple,  or  any 
other  apple,  to  me  within  the  stipulated  time,  I  will 
hold  it  equivalent  to — 'will  you  marry  me,  sweet  Ally 
Croker.'" 

"  I  am  willing  to  run  the  risk,"  replied  Mr.  Hamilton, 
cheerfully.  "  What  says  Miss  Clements — is  it  a  compact  ?" 

"  How  fearlessly  the  man  talks,  as  if  he  would  say — 
'  who's  afraid  !' "  exclaimed  Emily,  lifting  her  hands  in  well 
feigned  astonishment  at  his  audacity.  "  Say  yes,  Agatha, 
and  we  will  have  him  in  a  pretty  cul  de  sac — say  yes,"  she 
repeated,  impatiently. 

But  Agatha  shook  her  head,  and  would  not  say  yes. 

"  Silence  gives  consent.  But  one  word  to  the  bargain — 
there  must  be  no  sneaking  off  afterwards  under  pretence  of 
its  being  a  frolic — I'll  be  a  very  Shylock." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  I'll  not  sneak  off  on  that  pretence, 
or  any  other,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 


ERNEST   GREY.  167 

"  I'm  in  sober  earnest,  and  Agatha — there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  her  good  faith,  for  she  took  it  seriously  from  the 
first.  Didn't  you,  Agatha  ?" 

"  Of  course,  Emily  ;  anything  emanating  from  you  must 
be  taken  so.  Mr.  Hamilton  understands  that  perfectly." 

"  Xo  'ironic  satire  sidelongs  sklented,'  Miss  Clements, 
if  you  please.  You  might  take  a  lesson  from  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton." 

"  Yes,  he  '  knows  what  he  knows,  as  if  he  knew  it  not,'  I 
grant,  but  nevertheless  he  knows,"  said  Agatha. 

"Will  you  let  Mr.  Hamilton  speak  for  himself,  belle  ei 
bonne  1  Xow,  I  say  it  will  be  no  joke — what  do  you 
say  ?" 

"  I  say,  most  emphatically,  it  shall  be  no  joke,  if  I  can 
prevent  it,"  he  replied,  earnestly. 

"  What  is  all  that  nonsense  about  jokes  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Clements,  in  a  querulous  tone  of  voice,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other  for  an  explanation. 

"Agatha  was  trying  to  prevent  this  'sallow,  sublime, 
sort-of-Werter-faced  man'  here,  from  making  a  bona  fide 
proposal  to  me.  You  were  not  ?  So,  then,  you  thought 
all  the  time  that  I  had  no  chance.  Thank  you — I  really 
must  rise  for  that  compliment." 

"  Mr.  Hamilton  propose  for  you,  Emily  ?" 

"  Oh,  laws !  aunt, — you  make  me  blush,"  said  Emily, 
affecting  the  most  awkward  embarrassment.  "  He  has  not 


168  THE    COUSINS — WHICH   IS   IT. 

asked  me  yet,  but  he  is  going  to.     He  is  going  to  propose 
in  an  apple,"  she  added,  in  a  half  whisper 

"  Gracious  !  what  does  the  girl  mean  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Clements. 

"  She  is  going  to  revolutionize  the  '  Royaume  du  Tendre,' 
mother,  and  instal  Pomona  as  the  presiding  deity,  vice  Flora 
deposed." 

"I  believe  you  are  all  crazy  this  morning.  I  cannot 
understand  half  what  you  are  saying,  but  what  I  do  under- 
stand gives  me  unfeigned  pleasure.  There  is  no  one  I 
would  welcome  into  my  family  more  sincerely  than  you, 
Mr.  Hamilton,  and  on  this  point  Mr.  Clements  and  I  think 
alike." 

"I  thank  you,  dear  madam,  for  your  favorable  opinion, 
and  I  assure  you  that  to  be  connected  with  your  family  is 
the  dearest  object  of  my  ambition  ;  but  in  the  present 
instance " 

Mr.  Hamilton  paused  in  comical  perplexity,  and  looked 
at  Emily,  and  she,  afraid  that  her  uncle  might  hear  it,  and 
not  see  the  point  of  the  joke,  was  obliged  to  explain. 

"  Don't  scold,  dear  aunt,"  she  said,  in  a  deprecatory  tone, 
when  she  concluded  ;  "  I  know  it  was  very  improper,  and 
undignified,  and  all  that ;  but4  as  the  children  say,  '  I'll 
never  do  it  no  more.' " 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MRS.  CLEMENTS'  BALL — THE  PROPOSAL — MALICE  OF  FRIENDS. 

THE  day  on  which  the  ball  was  to  take  place,  anxiously 
looked  forward  to  by  many,  at  length  arrived,  and  Emily 
was  in  high  spirits,  for  her  dress  was  faultless  and  becoming, 
and  it  fitted  her  to  perfection.  A  little  after  the  appointed 
hour,  carriages  rattled  up  to  the  door  hi  rapid  succession, 
deposited  their  burdens,  and  gave  place  to  others  ;  guests 
poured  in  in  one  continuous  stream,  and  young  and  old 

'Shone  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress.' 

It  was  a  scene  of  gorgeous  confusion,  a  blending  of  all 
possible  colors,  an  exhibition  of  all  imaginable  tastes. 
Pearls  and  diamonds  flashed  in  the  blaze  of  innumerable 
chandeliers  ;  rubies  flushed  a  deeper  glow,  and  emeralds 
glittered  like  the  ocean  at  sunrise.  Feathers  swayed  to 
and  fro,  like  pendant  branches  in  the  summer  air  ;  roses 
with  perfumed  dew-drops  exhaled  their  artificial  fragrance  ; 
snowy  clouds  of  lace  floated  past,  mistily  transparent,  and 


170  MRS.  CLEMENTS'  BALL. 

dresses  of  every  variety  of  material,  from  the  regal  velvet 
to  those  gossamer  tissues — 

'  light  as  the  foam 
That  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken  wave ' 


were  intermingled  in  a  gay  and  brilliant  chaos,  changing 
and  shifting  like  the  colors  in  a  kaleidoscope. 

Agatha  and  her  cousin  were  dressed  in  white  satin,  with 
flounces  of  rich  Chantilly  lace,  looped  up  at  intervals  with 
tiny  bouquets  of  moss  roses, — their  rich,  brown  hair,  ar- 
ranged in  full  bandeaux  over  their  fair,  broad  foreheads, 
was  destitute  of  ornament,  save  a  solitary  camelia.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  decide  whether  the  pretty,  piquant 
Emily,  or  the  more  graceful  and  dignified  Agatha,  was 
more  admired  ;  but  certain  it  is  that  neither  was  overlooked. 
Mr.  Hamilton  divided  his  attentions  equally  between  them, 
talked,  and  laughed,  and  danced  with  both,  with  an  ease 
and  grace  that  threw  a  host  of  youthful  competitors  into 
the  shade  ;  but  though  Emily  watched  and  waited,  looked 
and  listened,  no  apple  was  forth-coming,  and  the  stipulated 
time  was  drawing  to  a  close. 

"  Going  to  do  anything  desperate  to-night  ?"  she  inquired, 
as  she  passed  him  in  the  dance  ;  but  Mr.  Hamilton  only 
answered  with  a  mischievous,  provoking  smile. 

"  By  Jupiter  !  that's  a  good-looking  feller,  Miss  North," 
remarked  her  partner,  an  effeminate  specimen  of  Young 


ERNEST  GREY.  171 

America,  with  a  decided  aversion  to  the  final  consonants. 
"  But  a  little  oldish — must  be  thirty-five,  if  he  is  a  day. 
Doesn't  look  desperate  though,  for  seems  to  be  on  very  good 
terms  with  himself.  Now  he  comes  with  Miss  Clements." 

"  This  gentleman  doesn't  think  you  look  like  a  man  that 
would  do  anything  desperate,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  Emily, 
stopping  them  as  they  passed — "  and  now  that  I  look  at 
you,  I  am  beginning  to  think,  myself,  that '  you  are  not  the 
man  I  took  you  for.'  You  did  talk  very  big  two  weeks  ago — 

'  Spak  o'  lowpin  o'er  a  linn,' 
or  something  of  that  sort ;  but  I'm  afraid  yon  watit  heart." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  Emily,  that  Mr.  Hamilton  has  gained 
hearts  by  the  dozen  to-night ;  let  him  have  a  heart,  or  not, 
he  has  brought  them  down  at  the  first  glance,  and  bagged 
them  as  he  would  pigeons." 

"  Then  I  have  been  fortunate  beyond  my  wishes.  One 
heart  would  satisfy  me,  Miss  Clements,"  said  Hamilton,  in 
a  tone  that  sent  the  eloquent  blood  to  her  temples. 

"  How  moderate  the  man  is,"  exclaimed  Emily,  in  accents 
of  admiration — "  what  an  example  for  you,  Mr.  Johnson." 

"  Ton  honor  !"  remarked  the  gentleman  alluded  to  ; 
"you  seem  to  think  me  quite  a  lawless  character,  Miss 
North.  Never  were  more  mistaken,  I  assure  you.  Ah  ! 
how  do  you  do,  Smylie  ?" 

Mr.  Smylie, -the  gentleman  addressed,  was  a  young,  dis- 
tingue and  an  indisputably  handsome  man,  with  dark  eyes, 


172  MRS.  CLEMENTS'  BALL. 

a  profusion  of  black,  wavy  hair,  and  teeth  that  any  lady  in 
the  ball-room  might  have  been  proud  to  own.  His  man- 
ners were  polished  and  agreeable,  and  when  in  the  society 
of  ladies,  an  air  of  deferential  courtesy  was  superadded, 
that  rendered  him  a  universal  favorite.  He  had  long  loved 
Agatha  Clements,  and  after  vainly  trying  to  elicit  from  her 
some  mark  of  preference,  determined  to  know  his  fate  at 
once.  He  came  to  this  conclusion  the  more  readily,  because 
amid  Agatha's  crowd  of  admirers,  there  was  none  that  she 
favored — therefore,  none  that  he  feared.  Sometimes  he 
wished  that  she  had  not  such  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton, but  Mr.  Hamilton  was  the  friend  of  the  family,  and 
almost  double  her  age — this  re-assured  him.  During  the 
evening  he  made  many  efforts  to  speak  to  her  alone,  but  up 
to  the  present  moment  he  had  signally  failed. 

"  You  disengaged,  Miss  North  1"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
of  extreme  surprise — "  why,  miracles  will  never  cease.  I 
thought  I  saw  Miss  Clements  with  you  just  now." 

"  She  was  here  this  very  moment.  I  presume  she  and 
Mr.  Hamilton  have  joined  the  dancers." 

But  they  had  not  joined  the  dancers,  for  Mr.  Hamilton, 
insisting  that  Agatha  must  be  tired,  led  her  to  a  settee 
snugly  ensconsed  in  a  quiet  corner,  and  shielded  from  obser- 
vation by  the  half-open  door. 

"Npw,"  said  he,  seating  hirriself  beside  her,  "this  is 
pleasant.  Here  we  can  enjoy  the  inestimable  privilege  of 


ERNEST   GREY.  173 

* 

being  silent  when  we  like, — a  privilege  I  think  you  ought 
to  appreciate,,  after  the  volleys  of  compliments  you  have 
received  and  replied  to." 

"  Oh,  compliments  in  a  ball-room,  like  bon  bons  at  a 
Carnival,  are  flung  at  random,  and  may  be  had  for  the 
picking  up,"  replied  Agatha.  "  For  my  part,  I  feel  much 
as  Moliere's  Misanthrope  felt  towards  those 

'  Grand  faiseurs  de  protestations ' 

those 

'  Obligeans  diseurs  d'  inutiles  paroles ' 

who  are  only  perfect  in — 

'  L  'art  de  ne  vous  rien  dire  avec  de  grand  discours.' 

I  wish  there  was  more  sincerity  in  our  every-day  life." 

"  Excuse  me  for  one  moment,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton, 
hastening  to  the  supper-room  and  returning  instantly. 
"  You  have  had  no  refreshments,  and  I  fancy  a  few 
grapes  will  not  be  unacceptable,  after  your  devotions  to 
Terpsichore." 

On  the  plate  he  presented  was  a  cluster  of  grapes  that 
might  have  tempted  an  anchorite.  Admiringly  Agatha 
held  up  the  semi-transparent  fruit  to  the  light,  and  in  doing 
so  exposed  to  view  a  rosy-cheeked,  Lilliputian  lady-apple. 
For  a  moment  her  equanimity  was  disturbed,  and  in  blush- 
ing confusion  she  replaced  the  grapes,  but  the  next  she 
blushed  still  more  deeply,  with  mortification  at  her  folly  in 


174  THE  PROPOSAL. 

giving  a  serious  turn  to  what  was  begun  in  jest.  Taking 
up  the  apple,  she  said,  laughingly — 

"  So  you  have  adjudged  the  Apple  of  Discord  to  me.  I 
presume  you  were  afraid  to  award  it  to  Emily,  after  the 
fair  notice  you  got.  Now  if  I  should  hold  you  to  the  bond, 
and  exact  my  pound  of  flesh,  what  a  dilemma  you  would  be 
in  ;  and  I  really  feel  half-inclined  to  do  it ;  but  you  look  so 
penitent  that  I  cannot  bear  to  punish." 

"  You  mistake,  Miss  Clements  ;  I  am  thoroughly  im- 
penitent." 

This  was  said  in  a  low,  deep  whisper,  that  sounded  like 
anything  but  a  jest. 

"  Then  in  consideration  of  your  frank,  self-accusing 
avowal,  I  will  remit  the  penalty,"  she  replied  hastily — 
"  and  in  return  for  my  magnanimity  you  shall  ask  me  to 
dance." 

"  One  moment,  Miss  Clements,"  he  said,  detaining  her  as 
she  rose  to  go — •"  grant  me  one  moment." 

Agatha  resumed  her  seat.  He  was  strangely  agitated 
for  one  so  self-possessed  in  general — so  agitated  that  he 
could  neither  conceal  nor  control  his  emotions.  Agatha, 
with  a  woman's  intuitive  perception,  understood  him  at 
once,  and,  with  a  woman's  ready  sympathy,  shared  his 
agitation. 

"  You  wished  just  now,  Miss  Clements,"  he  said,  "  that 
there  was  more  sincerity  in  our  every-day  life.  I  will  not 


ERNEST  GREY.  175 

say  to  yon,  be  sincere  with  me,  for  that  you  cannot  help 
being — it  is  your  nature,  but  I  entreat  you — — " 

A  peal  of  laughter  at  his  ear  made  Mr.  Hamilton  pause, 
and  he  then  discovered  that,  while  pre-occupied  with  their 
own  feelings,  a  party  had  come  up,  unobserved,  and  taking 
their  position  on  the  other  side  of  the  open  door,  com- 
menced criticizing,  in  no  gentle  spirit,  all  the  arrangements 
of  the  ball.  Anxious  to  spare  them  the  mortification  of 
knowing  that  their  observations  had  been  overheard  by  a 
member  of  their  host's  family,  Agatha  remained  perfectly 
still,  hoping  that  they  would  soon  join  the  dancers.  But 
her  hope  was  vain,  for  after  exhausting  that  subject  they 
took  up  one  more  congenial. 

"  As  for  that  flippant  cousin  of  theirs-,  she  is  a  perfect 
coquette,"  remarked  one. 

"  At  all  events,  she  does  not  conceal  her  real  character — 
she  does  not  play  the  prude,  and  seek  to  gain  admiration  by 
declining  it,"  said  a  voice  that  Mr.  Hamilton  started  to  hear. 

He  glanced  uneasily  at  Miss  Clements,  and  perceived,  to 
his  dismay,  that  she  too  recognized  the  voice  of  his  relative, 
Mrs.  Alworthy. 

"  A  capital  dodge,  that,"  said  a  gentlemen  of  the  party 
— "a  good  many  battles  have  been,  won,  by  retreating, 
since  the  days  of  the  Roman  Three." 

"  Oh  !  Agatha  Clements  is  a  tactician,"  said  Miss  Al- 
worthy, bitterly. 


176  MALICE   OF    FRIENDS. 

"  Smylie,  poor  fellow  !  seems  to  admire  her  tactics.  He 
is  dreadfully  smitten  in  that  quarter,  I  can  tell  you.  He  is 
a  gone  case." 

"  Oh,  she  only  keeps  on  Smylie  as  a  pis  aller,"  said  one 
of  the  Miss  Alworthys  ;  "  she  has  other  game  a-foot. 
Smylie  may  be  handsome,  and  admired,  and  all  that,  but 
he  is  not  rich  enough  for  her." 

"  Nor  old  enough,"  said  the  other  sister,  with  a  malicious 
laugh — "  don't  forget  that,  Letty. 

'Lea  plus  vieux  sout  pour  elle  les  plus  charmans' 

— if  they  have  got  money." 

"  The  fact  of  the  matter  is,"  said  Mrs.  Al worthy,  deci- 
sively, "  that  Agatha  Clements  will  never  marry  Smylie. 
I  don't  say  but  she  may  like  him  well  enough — she  keeps 
him  running  after  her  all  the  time,  when  another  young 
girl  would  give  him  to  understand  that  his  attentions  were 
thrown  away.  But  her  real  object  is  to  incite  George  to 
propose  for  her." 

"  Mr.  Hamilton  is  a  lucky  man  if  he  has  gained 
her  affections,"  said  a  gentleman  who  had  not  before 
spoken. 

"  Affections,  indeed  !  affection  for  his  money,"  was  the 
answer.  "  She  can't  love  George,  for  he  is  almost  double 
her  age,  but  trust  me,  he  won't  have  to  ask  her  a  sscond 
time.  Any  one  can  see  how  attentive  she  is — she  has  eyes 


ERNEST   GREY.  177 

and  ears  but  for  him.  I  saw  them  leave  the  ball-room 
half  an  hour  ago,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  were 
in  some  corner  by  themselves,  and  if  some  fortunate  accident 
doesn't  prevent,  George  may  have  already  gone  too  far  to 
retreat.  If  either  of  my  daughters  paid  such  attentions  to 
any  man,  I  would  blush  for  them." 

"I  move  that  we  adjourn  to  the  ball-room,"  said  the 
gentleman  who  had  first  spoken.  "They  are  having  a 
cotillon,  and  we  had  better  hurry." 

That  all  acquiesced  in  this,  was  evident  by  the  rustling 
and  fluttering  that  succeeded,  as  the  ladies  smoothed  down 
their  ruffled  plumages,  and  the  party  was  soon  lost  amid 
the  brilliant  crowd  that  thronged  the  ball-room. 

During  the  foregoing  conversation,  Agatha  sat  as  if 
stupefied,  her  varying  color  alone  proving  that  she  heard 
every  word.  She  was  only  conscious  of  one  wish — that 
she  was  alone.  How  could  she  bear  to  look  at  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton again,  he  knowing  that  she  had  heard  it  all — how 
tolerate  the  slightest  attention  from  him — how  bring  her- 
self to  treat  him  as  a  friend.  To  increase  her  mortification 
and  dismay,  she  felt  that  Mr.  Hamilton's  good  opinion  was 
of  more  consequence  to  her  than  that  of  all  her  other 
friends  collectively,  and  that,  unconsciously  to  herself,  she 
had  cherished  for  him  a  feeling  warmer  than  friendship. 
With  what  bitter  self-contempt  she  acknowledged  it  to  her 
own  heart !  Was  it  possible  that  her  conduct  gave  nny  color 


178  MALICE   OF   FEIENDS. 

to  such  degrading  suspicions  ?  No,  that  was  impossible — • 
it  was  too  humiliating  even  to  suppose. 

Mr.  Hamilton's  mortification  and  embarrassment  were 
not  less  than  her's  ;  but  before  the  conversation  was  at 
an  end,  his  resolution  was  taken.  He  felt  that  hesita- 
tion now  would  be  insulting- — that  delay  was  impossible 
— that  he  must  speak  now,  or  be  silent  hereafter. 
If  he  could  have  feigned  ignorance,  he  would  have 
done  it,  for  he  feared  that  the  irritation  of  wounded 
feelings  would  be  unfavorable  to  him  ;  but  he  could  not, 
for  he  knew  that  she  was  aware  he  had  heard  the  entire 
conversation. 

As  soon  as  the  last  of  the  party  disappeared,  he  turned 
to  address  Miss  Clements  ;  but  to  his  surprise  she  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  He  sought  her  in  the  adjoining  rooms — 
she  was  not  there  ;  in  the  supper-room — he  could  see  no 
trace  of  her  ;  and  at  length  he  returned,  reluctantly,  to  the 
ball-room.  He  had  hardly  entered,  before  he  saw  the 
object  of  his  search  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation 
with  Mr.  Smylie,  during  the  pauses  of  the  dance.  Several 
times  that  night  he  endeavored  to  approach  her,  but  she 
appeared  to  divine  his  intentions  intuitively,  and  eluded  him 
so  quietly,  that  he  actually  doubted  whether  she  had  seen 
him.  Finding  every  effort  foiled,  by  chance  or  design,  he 
deemed  it  useless  to  remain. 

"  George,  is  it  possible  you  are  going  ?"  said  Mrs.  Al- 


ERNEST  GREY.  179 

worthy,  tapping  him  on  the  arm.    "  I  didn't  think  you  were 
so  easily  discouraged." 

"  You  must  speak  plainly,  madam,  or  I  cannot  under- 
stand you,"  he  replied.  "I  am  getting  obtuse  as  I  get 
old." 

"Old  !  ridiculous  !"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  laughing. 
"  How  absurd.  No  man  is  old  who  is  unmarried.  Why 
have  you  left  the  field  to  Mr.  Srnylie  ?  Miss  Clements  and 
he  are  making  themselves  quite  remarkable.  ludeed,  to 
speak  seriously,  George,  I  think  you  have  acted  wisely : 
she  is  a  thorough  flirt." 

"  Acted  wisely  !  as  how  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean  ;  you  need 
not  affect  ignorance  with  me — acted  wisely  in  not  going 
too  far." 

"Mrs.  Alworthy,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  sternly,  "your 
ideas  of  wisdom  differ  from  mine  materially.  To  gain  such 
a  heart  as  Miss  Clements'  would  be  my  highest  ambition  ; 
for  it  I  would  make  any  sacrifice,  undergo  any  probation, 
and  if  genuine  affection  goes  for  anything  in  these  days,  I 
may  hope  to  succeed.  I  shall  try,  however." 

"  Trust  me,  you  have  only  to  try.  I  don't  wish  to  flatter 
you,  but  you  have  so  many  advantages — you  are  so 
wealthy." 

"  Name  it  not !"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  impatiently.  "  It 
would  be  inoperative  in  this  case.  That  slander  upon 


180  MALICE   OF   FRIENDS. 

woman,  it  ill  becomes  a  woman's  tongue  to  utter.  Still,  I 
agree  with  you,  that  hearts  can  be  bought,  but  I  believe 
they  must  be  paid  for  in  kind."  And  he  moved  towards 
the  door. 

"  I  feel  gratified  that  you  have  given  me  your  confidence, 
George.  You  may  rest  assured  I  will  not  betray  it ;  but 
I  would  advise  you  not  to  be  too  rash.  Take  time  and 
consider." 

"  You  need  not  keep  secret  what  I  have  said  to  you.  I 
do  not  seek  to  disguise  my  love  for  Miss  Clements.  I  am 
willing  that  every  one  in  the  ball-room  should  know  it,"  he 
replied  ;  and  saluting  his  disconcerted  relative,  he  left  the 
room. 

Agatha  saw  him  depart  with  pleasure,  for  his  presence 
imposed  on  her  a  painful  restraint.  He  only  was  aware  of 
the  mortification  she  endured,  and  when  he  was  gone,  all 
necessity  for  affecting  what  she  did  not  feel,  vanished.  It 
was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  she  observed  the  guests  depart, 
and  pleading  fatigue,  to  escape  from  Emily,  she  sought  her 
own  room,  and  wept  bitter  tears  of  outraged  pride  and 
wounded  feeling. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING THE    KNIGHT    OF   THE    UM- 
BRELLA  SORROW   AND    REMORSE. 

WHEN  Richard  Kane  gave  up  his  pursuit  of  Ernest  Grey 
on  the  memorable  night  of  their  last  meeting,  he  sought  his 
home,  determined,  if  possible,  to  find  him  out  the  next  day, 
or  at  least  gain  a  clue  to  his  whereabouts.  That  he  should 
by  one  thoughtless  phrase  have  added  to  sorrow  already 
overpowering,  filled  him  with  poignant  regret,  and  he  could 
know  no  peace  until  he  had  made  amends.  For  three  or 
four  nights  in  succession  he  lingered  around  the  corner  of 
Franklin  and  Broadway,  but  that  miserable  face,  illumined 
by  wild,  despairing  eyes,  gleaming  like  dungeon-lights, 
came  not  again.  At  last,  having  failed  in  every  effort,  he 
gave  up  the  search,  and  tried  to  believe  that  Grey  had 
procured  work,  and  that  his  sufferings  were  over.  But 
still  it  weighed  upon  his  mind — he  could  not  banish  it. 
Ernest  Grey,  as  he  had  last  seen  him,  haunted  him  night 
and  day,  and  those  reproachful  words — "if  you  had  not 
known  me,  Richard  Kane  !" — were  forever  ringing  in  his 


182  AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING. 

ears.  He  grew  silent  and  thoughtful,  his  light-hearted 
laugh  and  merry  jests  were  not  heard  in  the  work-room  as. 
of  old,  and  his  companions  remarked  that  "Dick"  was 
changing,  and  that  not  for  the  better.  About  two  weeks 
after  this,  Kane,  who  was  working  up  town,  was  returning 
home  hi  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  when  a  woman's  voice 
reached  his  ear  that  he  felt  certain  he  had  heard  before, 
and  that  under  circumstances  that  left  a  deep  impression 
on  his  mind.  Two  women  were  in  advance  of  him,  talking 
very  low,  but  the  tone  of  the  voices  could  be  distinctly 
heard,  and  as  he  listened,  he  felt  convinced  that  one  was 
not  unknown  to  him.  Passing  them  quickly,  he  stopped  at 
the  next  corner,  and  waited  for  them  to  come  up.  One 
glance  was  enough  to  assure  him  that  the  younger  of  the 
two  was  the  person  he  had  saved  in  Broadway.  True,  she 
looked  healthier  and  prettier,  and  her  dress,  though  very 
plain,  was  more  comfortable,  but  still  he  knew  her  at  once. 
Richard  was  too  glad  of  the  opportunity,  and  had  wished 
for  it  too  often,  to  let  it  pass  unimproved.  Holding  out 
his  hand  with  the  frank  cordiality  of  an  old  acquaintance, 
he  said  to  Lizzy — 

"  I  think  you  and  I  have  met  before 

She  turned  round  quickly,  looked  in  his  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  smiling  with  pleasure,  shook  his  proffered 
hand,  saying — - 

"  Yes,  fortunately  for  me,  we  did." 


ERNEST  GREY.  183 

"  Then  you  must  be  Richard  Kane,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Yes,  that's  my  name,"  he  replied,  a  little  astonished  at 
her  familiarity  with  it. 

"It  was  on  the  handle  of  your  umbrella,"  said  Lizzy, 
explaining  ;  "  and  although  we  were  not  sure  that  it  was 
your  name,  we  always  spoke  of  you  as  Richard  Kane." 

"  And  now  that  you  have  got  into  the  way  of  it,  I  hope 
you'll  keep  to  it,  for  I  like  the  sound  of  my  own  name.'' 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Margaret,  "I  have  been  so 
accustomed  to  hearing  of  Richard  Kane  all  the  time,  that 
anything  else  would  sound  strange  to  me.  I  am  afraid  I 
wouldn't  know  Mr,  Kane." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  wouldn't  know  him  either,"  said  Richard, 
laughing.  "  However,  I  don't  intend  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance— he  might  be  too  uppish  for  me." 

"  Yery  true,"  said  Margaret ;  "  so  he  might,  and  for  us 
likewise.  What  do  you  think,  Lizzy  ?" 

"I  am  so  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Kane  again,"  she  replied, 
"  that  I  can  think  of  nothing  else." 

"  Mr.  Kane  !"  repeated  Richard.  "  Well,  if  you  are 
pleased  to  see  him,  I'll  claim  acquaintance  with  him  right 
away." 

"  Pleased  !"  said  Lizzy.  "Oh,  far  more  than  pleased  ; 
I  have  so  often  wished  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness. 
Only  this  evening  we  were  speaking  of  you,  and  wishing  to 
meet  you." 


184  THE   KNIGHT   OF   THE   UMBRELLA. 

"That  is,  you  were  wishing  for  it,  and  I  was  wishing 
that  you  might  get  your  wish,"  said  Margaret.  "  Besides, 
to  tell  the  whole  truth,  I  wanted  to  see  the  '  Knight  of 
the  Umbrella' — that's  what  I  call  you,"  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  Kane  ;  "  for  Lizzy  talked  so  much  about  your 
daring  feat  at  the  Broadway  crossing,  that  my  curiosity 
was  roused." 

"  She  did— eh  ?"  said  Kane.  "  Well,  I  thought  she  was 
too  frightened  to  know  who  saved  her,  for  she  shook  like 
an  aspen,  and  could  hardly  speak." 

"You  didn't  give  me  time  to  speak,"  said  Lizzy,  "for 
you  ran  off  as  quick  as  you  changed  the  umbrellas." 

Richard  laughed  as  he  remembered  the  way  he  had 
managed  matters  that  morning,  and  the  dashing  style  in 
which  he  had  effected  the  change. 

"  How  I  wish  I  had  that  umbrella  with  me  now,"  added 
Lizzy,  "  for  I  may  not  have  a  chance  of  seeing  you  again." 

"  It  would  be  no  use  having  it,"  said  Richard,  "  for  I 
wouldn't  take  it.  Only  for  that  umbrella  you  would  have 
forgotten  all  about  me  long  ago.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as 
to  take  it ;  and  as  for  seeing  me  again,  there'll  be  no  chance 
about  it  next  time.  I  never  trust  to  chance." 

"  How  can  you  help  yourself?"  said  Margaret. 

"  By  helping  you,"  was  the  jesting  reply.  "  I'll  see  you 
<afe  home." 

"  That  will  be  taking  advantage  of  a  chance." 


ERNEST  GREY.  185 

"  Certainly  ;  but  that's  very  different  from  trusting  to 
<5ne." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  may  come.     Eh,  Liz  ?" 

"Oh  !  Margaret,  how  could  you,"  said  Liz,  aside — "  such 
a  place.  We  live  too  far  away,"  she  said  to  Kane,  "  to 
think  of  bringing  you.  Besides,  we  don't  mind  going  home 
by  ourselves — we  are  used  to  it." 

"  Then  it  will  be  a  novelty  to  have  another  with  you," 
said  Kane.  "  Besides,  you  and  I  are  old  friends,  and  you 
oughtn't  to  be  the  first  to  make  objections.  Margaret 
didn't  make  any.  Excuse  me  !"  he  said  to  her,  "  but  that's 
the  only  name  I  know  for  you." 

"  I  admire  your  tact,  Mr.  Kane,"  said  Margaret,  laugh- 
ing. "  So  you  want  to  know  our  names." 

"  I  would  be  pleased  to  know  them,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I 
did  not  say  so  for  the  purpose  of  finding  them  out,  I  assure 
you.  I  know  you  are  Margaret  and  she  is  Lizzy,  and  that's 
enough  now/' 

"  Well,  add  Roberts  to  Lizzy,  and  you  have  her  name 
complete.  Linwood  is  mine." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Linwood  ;  and  now  that  we  are 
regularly  acquainted,  you  will  take  this  arm,  and  Miss 
Roberts  will  take  the  other,  for  I  am  bound  to  see  you 
home.  Now  we  are  all  right,"  he  said,  getting  one  on 
each  side  of  him.  "  There's  no  use  in  trying  to  block  me 
off,  for  I  always  have  my  own  way  in  the  end." 


186  THE   KNIGHT   OF   THE   UMBRELLA. 

By  this  time  they  had  left  the  aristocratic  quarter  of  the 
city.  Broadway,  with  its  parallel  lilies  of  light,  lay  before 
them  in  all  its  nocturnal  splendor,  gorgeous  as  an  Oriental's 
dream.  Both  sides  of  the  street  were  crowded,  for  Pleas- 
ure was  at  high  tide,  and  on  its  exulting  billows  thousands 
were  borne  into  the  different  temples  of  Thespis,  to  weep 
with  Melpomene,  or  laugh  with  Momus 

"  This  is  our  way,"  said  Lizzy,  turning  down  one  of  the 
streets  that  led  to  the  East  River  ;  "  and  you  must  not 
come  one  step  further.  We  have  taken  you  too  far  out  of 
your  way  already." 

"  The  truth  of  the  matter  is,"  said  Margaret,  "  that  Liz 
don't  wish  you  to  see  where  we  live,  lest  you  might  be 
dazzled  by  our  magnificence.  Now  as  I  have  got  either 
less  or  more  pride  than  she  has,  I  don't  rightly  know  which, 
I  don't  mind  it  at  all ;  and  I  shall  be  as  glad  to  see  you  as 
if  we  were  in  a  plainer  place." 

"I  think  it  must  be  you  I  met  before,  and  not  Miss 
Roberts,"  said  Richard,  in  a  tone  of  slight  reproach. 

"  Now  you  are  offended,  Mr.  Kane,  because  I  wanted  to 
spare  you  a  long  walk,"  said  Lizzy  ;  "  and  that's  not  fair. 
You  can  come  the  whole  way  with  us,  if  you  have  a 
mind  to." 

"  I  guess  I  have  a  mind  to  ;  and  now  that  I  look  at  you 
again,"  said  Richard,  feigning  to  peep  under  her  bonnet, 
"  I  feel  sure  you  are  the  very  person  I  met  in  Broadway, 


ERNEST  GREY.  187 

and  no  mistake  about  it.  I  wonder  now  I  could  have  any 
doubt  about  the  matter." 

"  By  the  time  we  get  to  our  splendid  abode  that  wonder 
will  be  absorbed  in  a  newer,"  said  Margaret.  "  You  will 
wonder  at  our  magnanimity  in  suffering  you  to  come  within 
eye-shot  of  it.  Prepare  yourself  for  a  surprise." 

"  I  hope  it  ain't  a  finer  house  than  the  one  you  came  out 
of,  for  if  it  is  I'll  clear." 

"  Finer  than  Mr.  Clements' !"  said  Margaret,  surprised  ; 
"  they  shouldn't  be  mentioned  together." 

"  Clements"?  Clements  ?"  repeated  Kane.  "  What  Cle- 
ments ?  Is  it  the  man  that  accused  Ernest  Grey  ?" 

"Then  you  did  know  Ernest  Grey,  and  you  are  the 
person  he  spoke  of,"  said  Lizzy,  eagerly.  "  Oh  !  how 
much  lie  thought  of  you." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Richard,  wincing,  as  if  in  pain  ; — 
"  more  than  I  deserved.  I  wish  he  hadn't.  Do  you  know 
where  he  is  ?" 

"  In  the  Tombs,"  replied  Lizzy,  sadly. 

"  No,  no,  no  ;  I  saw  him  since  he  got  out." 

"  The  second  time  ?".  inquired  Margaret,  anxiously. 

"  What  second  time  ?  For  heaven's  sake  !  don't  tell  me 
he  was  imprisoned  a  second  time — don't,"  said  Richard, 
with  an  impatient  earnestness  of  manner  quite  unusual  to 
him.  "  It's  not  possible — it  can't  be — Ernest  Grey  !  for 
what  ?" 


188  SORROW   AND   REMORSE. 

"  For  taking  money  to  buy  food  for  his  wife  and  child." 

"  Good  God  1"  he  exclaimed,  coining  to  a  full  stop, 
clasping  his  hands  over  his  eyes  ;  "  how  horrible — -just  after 
he  left  me  !  Oh,  Richard  Kane  !  Richard  Kane  !  what 
have  you  done  ?  Where  is  his  wife  ?" 

"  Dead,"  was  the  almost  inaudible  reply. 

"  His  child— what  of  him  ?" 

"  He  is  with  a  true  friend — one  who  showed  his  mother 
kindness  when  it  was  most  needed,"  replied  Lizzy. 

"  That's  well,"  said  Richard  :  "  one  plank  from  the 
wreck.  Come,  let  us  go  on  ;  it's  no  time  to  keep  you 
standing,"  he  said,  putting  their  arms  through  his  and 
hurrying  forward,  as  if  life  and  death  depended  on  his 
speed. 

For  full  ten  minutes  they  kept  up  the  same  pace,  without 
interchanging  a  word.  Block  after  block  was  passed,  each 
more  dilapidated  than  the  preceding  one,  and  at  last  they 
reached  Short's  alley.  Here  the  relaxing  pressure  on 
Kane's  arms  reminded  him  that  he  was  not  alone,  and 
arrested  his  progress. 

"  This  is  our  home,"  said  Margaret.  "  Will  you  come  in 
and  rest  ?" 

"Not  now,"  replied  Richard,  observing  the  place  mi- 
nutely ;  "  but  I  will  call  soon  and  bring  you  word  about 
Ernest." 

"  Oh,  do  1"  said  both  girls,  urgently. 


ERNEST  GREY.  189 

"  If  you  knew  what  cause  I  have  for  remorse  concerning 
this  affair,"  he  added,  sadly,  "  you  would  pity  me.  I  feel 
convinced  but  for  one  inadvertent  word  of  mine,  Grey 
would  never  have  committed  that  crime,  and  to  satisfy  my 
mind  upon  that  point,  I  must  see  him."  • 

"You  had  better  not  delay  about  it,"  said  Margaret, 
"  lest  he  might  be  removed.  Will  you  see  him  to-morrow  ?" 

"  If  possible." 

"  When  will  you  call  here,  Mr.  Kane  ?"  said  Lizzy, 
anxiously.  "  Do  let  it  be  as  soon  as  you  can.  Could  you 
come  to-morrow  evening  ?" 

"  If  I  see  him  through  the  day  I  will  be  here  in  the 
evening — you  may  rely  upon  it." 

"  Will  you  be  sure  to  know  the  place  ?" 

"  I  never  forget  where  a  friend  lives,"  said  Kane  ;  "  and 
you  knowing  Grey,  makes  me  feel  now  as  if  we  were  really 
old  friends." 

"  And  I  felt  so  from  the  first,"  said  Lizzy,  simply  ;  "  but 
then  you  u-ere  a  friend — that  makes  the  difference.  Good 
night  I  Don't  forget  to-morrow." 

Richard,  a  prey  to  conflicting  feelings,  turned  home- 
wards, and  Lizzy  and  Margaret  groped  their  way  through 
the  profound  darkness  to  their  own  room,  there  to  talk 
over  the  events  of  the  day,  and  speculate  on  the  share 
Richard  Kane  had  in  Ernest  Grey's  fall. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

ANOTHER    NEW    MEDICINE CHIT-CHAT RE-APPEARANCE    OF 

THE    APPLE A   DECLARATION. 

"WELL,  really,  we  are  fortunate,"  said  Helen  Alworthy, 
entering  Mrs.  Clements'  parlor  the  second  day  after  the 
ball,  "  to  meet  three  gentlemen  where'  we  did  not  expect  to 
see  one.  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Smylie  1  I  have  a  great  mind 
not  to  speak  to  you,"  she  added,  shaking  hands  with 
Robert — "for  you  were  not  here  in  time  to  dance  with 
me.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Clements  !  I  hope  you  feel 
better." 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  over-fatigued  yourself,"  said  Mrs. 
Alworthy,  advancing.  "You  exerted  yourself  too  much. 
I  was  miserable,  on  your  account,  all  the  night.  Allow  me 
to  introduce  my  friend,  Mrs.  Spencer — Mrs.  Spencer,  Mrs. 
Clements.  Mrs.  Spencer,"  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  after 
the  ladies  had  gone  through  -the  prescribed  formula  on 
such  occasions — "  has  heard  of  a  most  wonderful  cure,  and 
I  induced  her  to  come  and  relate  the  entire  matter  to  you." 

"  How  very  kind  !"  said   Mrs.  Clements,  warmly.     "  I 


ERNEST  GREY.  191 

feel  indebted  to  both,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
feel  indebted  to  my  ill-health,  for  it  has  procured  me  the 
pleasure  of  this  introduction.  Was  this  wonderful  cure 
wrought  by  a  new  medicine  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  perfectly  new  one,"  replied  Mrs.  Spencer,  em- 
phatically. "It  is  called  'Death's  Bane  and  Antidote/ 
and  I  think  there  never  was  a  more  appropriate  name." 

"  '  Death's  Bane  and  Antidote,' "  repeated  Mrs.  Clements. 
"  Well,  I  really  do  like  the  name  :  there  is  a  great  deal  in 
a  name.  I  tried  the  ' Hysterapipus '  last,  and  the  'Life 
Giver'  immediately  before  it,  but  I  do  think  this  is  a  better 
medicine.  What  does  it  cure  ?" 

"  Oh  !  every  thing  you  could  name,  from  a  felon  to  a 
fever  ;  but  it  is  particularly  adapted  to  cases  of  nervous 
suffering." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  the  very  thing  I  want.  I  undergo  martyr- 
dom with  my  nerves  every  day  and  hour,  and  in  my  case  I 
find  that,  like  the  tooth-ache,  it  meets  with  no  sympathy. 
But  about  the  cure — I  am  all  anxiety  to  hear  of  it.  Sit 
beside  me" — she  added,  addressing  Mrs.  Spencer,  and 
making  room  for  her  on  the  tete-a-tete — "they  talk  so 
loud,  and  I  wish  to  hear  every  word." 

"  I  believe  I  shall  leave  you  to  discuss  the  matter 
between  yourselves,  and  see  what  my  young  friend  Ro- 
bert has  been  doing  during  his  absence/'  said  Mrs.  Al- 
worthy. 


192  CHIT-CHAT. 

Advancing  to  the  group,  she  took  a  seat  beside  Robert, 
and  engaged  him  in  conversation  about  his  visit  to  Charles- 
ton, and  the  persons  he  had  met  there.  After  exhausting 
this  topic,  she  turned  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  examining 
some  drawings  that  were  scattered  on  the  table,  with  great 
apparent  interest,  and  remarked  that  she  did  not  expect  to 
see  him  there. 

"  Why  not,  Madam  ?"  said  Hamilton,  raising  his  eyes  to 
her's,  and  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure  :  you  can't  expect  me  to 
give  a  reason  for  everything.  Where  is  Miss  Clements  ? 
Have  you  seen  her  ?" 

"  We  have  not  been  so  fortunate,"  replied  Mr.  Smylie. 

"  Nor  Miss  North  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  have  seen  Miss  North.  She  looks  as  fresh  as 
morning  roses,  and  one  could  scarcely  believe  that  she  ever 
inhaled  the  heated  air  of  a  ball-room." 

"  What  a  pretty  compliment !  I  would'nt  have  missed  it 
for  the  world,"  said  Emily,  standing  in  the  door-way,  and 
courtseying  to  Mr.  Smylie.  "  You  are  the  only  gentleman 
in  the  room,  Mr.  Smylie,"  she  added,  advancing,  "that 
knows  how  to  pay  a  compliment  gracefully.  Have  you  one 
for  my  cousin  Agatha  ?" 

Miss  Clements  looked  paler  than  usual,  but  as  Mr. 
Hamilton  turned  round  to  address  her,  she  blushed  crim- 
son, and  endeavored  to  hide  it  by  stooping  to  gather  some 


ERNEST   GREY.  103 

faded  flowers  that  lay  upon  the  table.  When  she  raised 
her  head,  every  trace  of  confusion  had  vanished,  and  with 
her  usual  unembarrassed  gracefulness  of  manner,  she  wel- 
comed her  visitors. 

"  I  have  been  bespeaking  a  compliment  for  you,  Agatha, 
from  Mr.  Smylie,"  said  her  cousin  ;  "  and  I  presume  it  is 
ready  for  delivery  now.  How  long  does  it  take  you  to 
concoct  an  impromptu,  Mr.  Smylie  ?" 

"  Well,  when  there  is  a  great  hurry  I  can  get  up  one  in 
a  day  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  I  require  three,  to  do 
justice  to  myself,  Miss  North.  But  if  I  had  a  hundred 
prepared,  I  should  forget  them  all  in  the  presence  of  Miss 
Clements." 

"  Spoken  with  good  emphasis  and  discretion,"  said  Emily  ; 
"  and,  really,  it  sounds  as  if  you  meant  it.tj 

"Miss  North  little  thinks  how  truly  she  speaks,"  said 
Mr.  Smylie,  in  a  low  voice,  bending  over  Miss  Clements' 
chair,  under  pretence  of  pointing  out  some  defect  in  one  of 
the  drawings.  "  I  forget  everything — I  forget  myself  in 
her  presence." 

"  I  do  not  observe  the  defect  you  speak  of,"  said  Agatha, 
affecting  not  to  hear  him  ;  "  but  I  have  no  doubt  Miss 
Alworthy  would  detect  it  at  once,  she  has  such  a  correct 
eye." 

During  the  conversation,  Robert  was  gazing  abstractedly 
into  the  street,  and  was  only  roused  from  his  reverie  by 


194  CHIT-CHAT. 

feeling  his  cousin's  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  hearing  her 
whisper  in  his  ear — 

"  Wod  but  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us, 
To  see  oursels  as  ithcrs  see  us." 

'"Come,  Robert,"  she  said  aloud,  "come,  take  your  sta- 
tion opposite  this  glass — nothing  so  improves  a  man  as  self- 
reflection.  Come,  I  want  your  opinion  of  a  sombre  relation 
of  mine  you'll  see  there." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Clements  has  left  his  heart  with  some 
Southern  lady,"  suggested  Miss  Al worthy.  "  That  would 
account  for  his  low  spirits." 

"So  it  would,"  said  Emily.  " How  stupid  of  me  not  to 
think  of  that  !  Now  if  you  had  left  your  heart  with  me 
before  you  went,  Robert,  you  would  have  escaped  that  mis- 
chance, and  you  would  have  had  it  again  for  the  asking." 

"  If  I  had  left  it  with  you,  Emily,  it  wouldn't  be  worth 
taking.  I  know  how  you  would  treat  it.  However,  I  can 
assure  you,  ladies,  no  such  misfortune  has  befallen  me.  If 
it  had,  I  hope  I  know  better  than  to  present  myself  before 
you — a  heartless  fellow  is  not  fit  society  for  ladies." 

"  No,  indeed  !"  said  Miss  Alworthy.  "  They  are  just 
like  swindlers, — obtaining  money  under  false  pretences.  I 
have  no  patience  with  them." 

"  Money  !"  said  Robert,  in  affected  perplexity.  "  What 
money  ?  Oh  !  wealth  of  affection,  of  course.  Very  good  ! 


ERNEST  GREY.  195 

Miss  Alworthy — very  good,  indeed !  Between  you  and 
me,  I  think  that  gentleman  there,"  pointing  to  Mr  Hamil- 
ton, and  affecting  to  speak  low,  "  looks  very  like  a  swin- 
dler. I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  judge,  mark  you  ;  but  I  say 
what  I  think.  What  do  you  say,  Emily  ?" 

"  '  I  do  not  like  his  looks,  I  promise  you  ;'  but  we  had 
better  take  care,  or  he  will  overhear  us." 

I  thought  you  intended  being  up  for  the  ball,  Mr. 
Clements,"  said  Helen  Alworthy.  "  I  assure  you  your 
absence  was  universally  regretted." 

"  Regretted,  and  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Mr.  Smylie  present ! 
You  flatter  me  ;  and  wasn't  Mr.  St.  John — Apollo  St. 
John,  as  we  call  him,  there  ?  What  do  you  think  of  him, 
Miss  Alworthy  ?" 

"  I  think  him  exceedingly  handsome,"  exclaimed  Helen 
Alworthy,  enthusiastically.  "Don't  you,  Miss  Clements? 
Such  eyes  !  such  teeth  !" 

"I  never  think  any  face  handsome  that  lacks  expres- 
sion." 

"  He  handsome  !"  said  Emily,  laughing.  "  Why,  there 
is  nothing  in  his  face  but — features." 

"  For  pity's  sake  !  what  else  would  you  want  ?"  said 
Miss  Alworthy,  laying  down  the  drawing  which  she  had 
been  criticizing  with  Mr.  Smylie.  "  What  have  you,  or  I, 
or  any  one  but  features  ?" 

"  You  are  a  very  severe  critic  of  masculine  beauty,  Miss 


106  CHIT-CHAT. 

North,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  snecringly.  "  Allow  me  to 
tell  you  that  Mr.  St.  John  is  universally  considered  the 
handsomest  man  in  New  York." 

"  Alas  for  New  York  !"  murmured  Emily,  pathetically. 

"  And  you  will  not  find  one  in  a  thousand  that  will  agree 
with  you.  I  heard  quite  a  number  of  young  ladies  admire 
him  the  other  night." 

"  Did  you  hear  any  admiring  me  ?"  asked  Robert,  with 
an  affectation  of  simplicity  that  was  irresistibly  ludicrous. 
"  Don't  answer  in  a  hurry,  dear  Madam.  '  No '  is  an  ugly 
word  for  a  lady  to  use." 

"  Do  you  want  her  to  immolate  Truth  at  the  Shrine  of 
Courtesy  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Smylie. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  that  is  a  sacrifice  Mrs.  Alworthy  could 
never  be  induced  to  make.  Well,  I  will  not  press  for  an 
answer.  I  withdraw  the  question.  But  my  two  friends 
were  present — what  of  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  they  were  Caesars — they  came,  they  saw,  they 
conquered.  Wherever  they  appeared,  hearts  popped  down 
like  over-ripe  apples  in  a  breeze,  or  like  Orientals  before  a 
monarch.  I  verily  believe  that  if  all  the  hearts  these  two 
gentlemen  wounded  on  that  memorable  night  were  collected 
in  a  mass,  they  would  overtop  the  Tartar's  pyramid  of 
skulls.  Yet  see  how  quiet  they  look — their  hearts  are 
unscathed." 

"  '  Hath  any  man  seen  them  at  the  barber's  lately  ?' " 


ERNEST  GREY.  19*7 

asked  Robert,  iii  a  loud  voice.  "  That's  the  test.  Look 
this  way,  gentlemen.  Ha  !  smooth  faces  and  soft  hearts. 
Emily  North,  you  have  slandered  them  cruelly :  they  are 
in  love.  '  Oh  !  coz,  coz,  coz — my  pretty  little  coz,  if  thou 
didst  know  how  many  fathoms  deep  they  are  in  love,'  thou 
wouldst  pity  them." 

"  That  would  do  them  no  good,  unless  they  were  in  love 
with  me." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Spencer  had  given  the  most  minute 
details  of  the  wonderful  cures  performed  by  "  Death's  Baue 
and  Antidote,"  and  had  heard  from  Mrs.  Clements  the  rise 
and  progress  of  every  disease  with  which  she  was  afflicted, 
the  difficulty  of  knowing  them  in  their  incipient  state,  and 
the  impossibility  of  eradicating  them  when  they  became 
chronic  ;  knew  by  heart  the  chronology  of  «ach  disease,  and 
their  order  of  precedence,  and  was  in  no  danger  of  giving 
neuralgia  the  pas  of  tic  doloureux,  or  committing  any 
other  anachronism  equally  absurd.  Having  exhausted  the 
subject,  both  ladies,  by  common  consent,  joined  the  group. 

"  Emily,  do  you  remember  where  I  put  that  prescription 
I  had  last  week  ?"  said  Mrs.  Clements. 
"  In  Agatha's  work-box.     Shall  I  get  it  ?" 
"  Yes,  do  so  :  I  want  to  show  it  to  Mrs.  Spencer." 
Emily  was  not  long  in  finding  the  prescription,  but  on 
shutting   the  box  she  discovered,  as   every  one  has  done 
in   like   circumstances,  that   it  would   not  close,  and  she 


198  RE-APPEARANCE   OP  THE  APPLE. 

lifted  up  the  different  articles  to  arrange  them  more 
compactly. 

"  Why  have  this  packed  so  tightly,  Agatha  ?"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  What  is  it  ?  oh,  my  work-box,"  said  Agatha,  rising  in 
great  trepidation,  and  hurrying  across  the  room — "  do  not 
trouble  yourself  about  it.  I  shall  attend  to  it." 

But  the  caution  came  too  late.  Emily  had  removed  the 
greater  part  of  the  contents,  and  in  the  bottom  lay  the 
identical  apple  she  had  given  three  weeks  ago  to  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

"  Eureka  !  eureka  !"  she  exclaimed,  joyously,  holding  the 
apple  high  over  her  head.  "  Mr.  Hamilton,  do  you  know 
it?" 

"  Emily  !  I  beseech  you,  give  it  to  me,"  said  Agatha,  in 
tones  of  earnest  entreaty,  grasping  her  by  the  arm  as  she 
spoke.  The  touch,  slight  as  it  was,  displaced  the  apple, 
which  fell  and  rolled  over  to  Mr.  Hamilton's  feet.  To  lift 
it  and  recognize  it  was  one  and  the  same  thing. 

"Pshaw,  it  is  only  an  apple,"  said  Miss  Alworthy. 
"  Really,  I  thought  it  was  a  portrait,  at  the  very  least." 

"  So,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  Emily,  with  a  provoking  laugh, 
"I  have  found  out  what  you  did  with  the  apple.  Now 
don't  flatter  yourself  that  I  feel  mortified.  How  cunningly 
Agatha  had  it  stowed  away  in  her  box." 

"  Was  it  this  apple  you  found  there  just  now  ?"  said  Mr. 


ERNEST   GREY.  199 

Hamilton,  eagerly,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure,  and 
every  feature  radiant  with  delight. 

"  Yes,  the  very  apple — give  it  to  me." 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  replied,  hastily,  "  I  cannot." 

"  My  !  what  fuss  about  an  apple,"  said  Helen  Alworthy, 
contemptuously. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  remarked  Mrs.  Alworthy  ;  "  but 
there  is  some  wonderful  mystery  about  it — that's  very  evi- 
dent. What  is  it,  Miss  North  ?" 

"  Simply  this  :   Mr.  Hamilton,  in  order  to  spare " 

Emily  looked  at  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  then  at  her  cousin's 
agitated  countenance,  and  for  the  first  time  the  idea  struck 
her  that  it  was  not  all  a  jest,  and  she  paused,  at  a  loss 
what  to  say.  Mr.  Hamilton  observed  her  embarrassment, 
and  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  prescription  ?"  said  he, 
laughing.  "  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  all  about  it,  and 
Mrs.  Clements'  patience  is  giving  way." 

Really,  that  is  too  bad,"  said  Emily,  taking  advantage 
of  the  opening  this  afforded  to  escape.  "  I  must  get  it  for 
you,  dear  aunt.  Here  it  is,  as  yellow  as  the  flowers  in  Mrs. 
Percival's  hat." 

Emily  threw  this  out  intentionally,  foreseeing  that  the 
discussion  it  would  give  rise  to,  would  prevent  any  recur- 
rence to  the  former  topic.  And  she  was  right  in  her  con- 
jecture, for  Mrs.  Spencer,  true  to  her  instincts,  seized 


200  A   DECLAKATION. 

eagerly  on  the  opportunity  for  dilating  on  her  favorite 
theme,  and,  after  proving  conclusively  that  Mrs.  Percival's 
flowers  were  not,  and  could  not  be  yellow,  and  that,  in  fact, 
they  were  so  far  from  being  yellow,  they  were  the  most 
delicate  shade  of  lemon  color — she  passed  on  to  other 
subjects  of  equal  importance,  and  left  the  apple  so  far 
behind,  that  it  was  impossible  to  return  to  it.  Having 
silenced  all  caviling  on  that  point,  and  having  impressed  on 
Mrs.  Clements  the  necessity  for  procuring  the  new  medicine 
without  delay,  she  rose  and  took  her  leave. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  Mrs:  Alworthy,  to  take  you  from 
such  agreeable  society,"  she  said,  smiling  on  each  member 
of  the  group,  "  but  I  gave  you  to  understand  before  coming 
that  my  time  was  limited,  and  you  see  I  have  made  a  much 
longer  visit  than  I  intended." 

"It  was  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  call,"  said  Mrs. 
Clements — "  very  kind,  indeed.  I  have  not  words  to  ex- 
press how  grateful  I  feel.  The  mere  anticipation  of  that 
medicine  has  done  me  good." 

"I  hope  we  shall  see  you  soon,  Mrs.  Spencer,"  said 
Agatha,  with  graceful  warmth  ;  "for  if  not,  this  visit  will 
be  merely  a  matter  of  regret." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you  :  I  certainly  shall  call  soon,  for  I  am 
interested  about  this  medicine." 

"  What  !  another  new  medicine,  mother,"  exclaimed 
Robert,  laughing  heartily.  "Well,  who  says  there  is 


EKNEST   GREY.  201 

nothing  new  under  the  sun  ?  But  it's  all  right,  I  dare  say. 
Why  should  we  have  old-fashioned  medicines  any  more  than 
old-fashioned  clothes  ?" 

"Or  old-fashioned  doctors,"  said  Agatha.  "Why  had 
you  Dr.  Xewman  when  you  were  ill  last  summer  ?" 

"  Why  !  Because  it  is  such  a  pleasant  thing  '  of  the 
doctor  in  the  mode  to  die.'  " 

"  Well,  !• hope  we  shall  all  live  for  a  good  many  summers 
to  come,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  arranging  her  hat  before 
the  glass.  "  For  my  part,  I'm  not  tired  of  this  world  yet, 
although  I  am  getting  old." 

'"  Old,"  repeated  Mr.  Smylie,  smiling  incredulously.  "  No 
lady  begins  to  get  old  until  she  is  ninety-nine.  That's  an 
article  of  my  faith." 

"  My  !  only  listen  to  him,"  said  Miss  Alworthy.  "  What 
a  courtier  he  is." 

"  Come,  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Alworthy,  who  was  now  fully 
equipped  for  the  street.  "  We  are  going.  Shall  we  leave 
you  behind  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  we  have  some  purchases  to  make,"  replied 
both  in  a  breath. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  with  us,  George,"  said  the  elder 
sister.  "  You  have  a  very  good  taste,  and  I  want  to  con- 
sult you." 

"And  I  have  an  exquisite  taste,  and  like  to  be  con- 
sulted," said  Robert ;  "  so  with  your  leave  I  will  go  too. 


202  A   DECLARATION. 

Smylie,  you  can  stay  with  the  ladies  until  I  return,  and  act 
Love  among  the  Roses.  Agatha  will  sing  for  you." 

"I  think  I* shall  stay  for  the  singing,  too,"  said  Mr. 
Hamilton,  aside,  to  Robert. 

"  No,  sir,  you  shan't,"  he  replied,  imperatively.  "  I  must 
harve  your  opinion  of  a  horse  father  is  about  buying  for  me. 
So  come  along — you  can  come  back  with  me,  if  you  have  a 
mind  to." 

Emily  stood  at  the  window  as  they  passed,  and  returned 
the  smiles  and  bows  of  the  entire  party.  The  day  was 
beautiful,  clear,  bright  and  frosty  ;  a  gentle  wind  rattled 
the  skeleton  trees,  and  the  slanting  sunbeams  fell  athwart 
the  leafless  branches,  flinging  their  giant  shadows  on  the 
spotless  pavement. 

"  I  wish  I  had  gone  with  them,"  said  Emily,  turning 
from  the  window.  "  That  day  might  tempt  an  invalid  out." 

"  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  go  out  to-day,  Emily,  for  you 
have  a  slight  cold,  and  there  is  nothing  so  treacherous," 
said  Mrs.  Clements,  leaving  the 'room,  and  taking  with  her 
for  loving  study  an  authenticated  list  of  cures,  all  accom- 
plished through  the  agency  of  "Death's  Bane  and  Anti- 
dote." These  cures  were  all  attested  by  "  most  honorable 
men,"  but  strange  to  tell,  they  had  all  occurred  in  some 
distant  state,  proving  incontestibly  that  New  York  was 
more  healthy,  or  New  Yorkers  less  philanthropic  than 
Carolinians  or  Oregonese. 


ERNEST   GREY.  203 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  out,  but  I  must  see  what  Lizzy 
and  Margaret  are  doing  above  stairs.  Haven't  they  got 
some  work  of  mine  in  hands,  Agatha  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so  ;  but  they  understand  perfectly  what 
they  are  doing.  I  feel  quite  confident  they  will  make  no 
mistakes." 

"  Better  be  sure  than  be  sorry.  I  shall  look  in  and  see 
for  myself.  Make  Agatha  sing  for  you,  Mr.  Smylie,  and 
that  will  relieve  the  tedium  caused  by  my  absence." 

But  Mr.  Smylie  appeared  to  have  no  desire  for  music. 
In  place  of  opening  the  piano  and  arranging  the  music,  he 
stood  up,  went  to  the  window,  looked  out  for  a  while,  and 
then  returned  to  his  seat,  without  saying  a  word.  Agatha 
addressed  some  trifling  observation  to  him,  but  he  was  so 
pro-occupied  that  he  did  not  hear  it.  The  silence  was  fast 
becoming  embarrassing,  and  observing  this,  she  seated  her- 
self at  the  instrument,  and  struck  a  few  preliminary  chords. 
At  the  first  sound  Mr.  Smylie's  abstraction  vanished. 

"  Miss  Clements,"  he  said,  coming  close  to  the  piano  and 
speaking  in  a  low,  earnest  voice — "  Miss  Clements,  I  ask 
your  attention  for  a  few  moments.  You  must  know  what 
I  am  about  to  say  :  if  you  do  not,  then  I  am  a  poor  expo- 
nent of  my  own  feelings." 

"You  give  me  credit  for  too  much  penetration,  Mr. 
Smylie,"  said  Agatha,  calmly  observing  that  he  expected  a 
reply.  "  It  would  be  absurd  in  me  to  pretend  to  know  what 


204  A   DECLAEATION. 

I  have  not  heard,  for  I  am  often  puzzled  to  understand 
what  I  do  hear." 

"  I  hoped — I  trusted,  that  Miss  Clements  understood — 
that  she  at  least  suspected  the  existence  of  a  feeling  that 
has  influenced,  my  every  act  and  thought  for  months  past, 
and  that  feeling,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  impassioned  earnest- 
ness, "was  love  for  her.  If  I  have  spoken  prematurely, 
forgive  me " 

'"Most  sincerely  do  I  wish  you  had  spoken  before,  or 
that  I  had  suspected  this,"  said  Agatha,  with  deep  feeling. 
"  Believe  me,  I  feel  deeply  grateful  for  your  regard,  but — 

"  Say  no  more,  Miss  Clements,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"That  'but'  can  have  only  one  meaning.  You  cannot 
return  it — is  it  so  ?  am  I  right  ?  or  is  it  in  the  power  of 
time  to  change  your  feelings — to  create  an  interest  for  me 
in,  your  heart  ?  Say  it  is  possible,  barely  possible,  and  I 
will  trust  to  time." 

"It  is  not  possible,"  she  replied,  in  tones  so, low  that  he 
could  scarcely  hear. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  frankness,  Miss  Clements.  I  am 
aware  that  I  have  no  right  to  ask  another  question  ;  still  I 
would  fain  know " 

"  Hallo  !"  cried  Robert,  rushing  in,  followed  by  Mr. 
Hamilton,  "I  believe  we  have  spoiled  a  tete-a-tete.  This 
looks  suspicious — at  the  piano  and  not  a  note  struck  I 
Where's  Emily  ?" 


ERNEST  GREY.  205 

"  She  has  just  left  the  room." 

"  How  came  you  back  so  soon  ?"  asked  Mr.  Smylie, 
making  a  determined  effort  to  control  his  feelings,  and 
succeeding  wonderfully.  "  I  thought  you  intended  to  test 
the  patience  of  a  dozen  shopkeepers  before  you  returned." 

"  Who  can  overrule  Fate  or  Woman  ?  I  did  intend  to 
be  present  at  the  ordeal  you  allude  to,  but  the  ladies 
changed  their  mind — which  proved  they  did  not  change 
their  nature — and  put  off  their  shopping  till  to-morrow  ; 
and  incontinently  we  put  back  for  you.  I  want  you  to 
come  and  see  my  horse — you  are  as  good  a  judge  as  Ham- 
ilton. I  won't  take  an  excuse.  He's  a  perfect  beauty,  I 
tell  you — not  a  white  spot  on  him — tail  and  mane  black  as 
midnight — eye  like  an  eagle's — neck  like  a  swan's — sure- 
footed as  a  mule,  and  graceful  as  an  Arabian.  He's  bound 
to  take  everything  equine  down." 

"  Morton  has  got  one,"  remarked  Smylie. 
,   "  Pshaw  !  Smylie.     I  wonder  at  you  to  speak  of  him. 
Why,  man,  I  tell  you,  he's  not  a  circumstance  to  mine — 
he  can't  begin  to  compare  with  him.     Morton,  indeed  1 
Come  !" 

Both  gentlemen  were  evidently  disinclined  to  go,  but 
Robert  would  not  be  denied  ;  they  were  obliged  to  yield, 
and  listen  for  hours  to  a  learned  disquisition  on  the  different 
breeds  of  horses,  slighting  comments  on  other  men's  fonr- 
footed  property,  and  thrasonical  rhapsodies  about  his  own. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE    CONFESSION VINDICATION    OF    ERNEST   GREY. 

MR.  CLEMENTS  sat  alone  in  his  study,  a  room  exclusively 
devoted  to  his  own  use,  where  no  one  was  privileged  to 
intrude.  -It  was  small,  but  exquisitely  fitted  up  :  the  walls 
presented  an  accurate  resemblance  of  antique  wainscotting, 
and  the  ceiling  recalled  to  memory  the  groined  arches  of 
an  ancient  cathedral.  Around  the  room  were  ranged  book- 
cases of  dark  oak,  carved  and  pointed  in  the  Gothic  style, 
and  above  them,  contrasting  finely  with  the  dark  back- 
ground, were  busts  of  Homer  and  Dante,  Shakspere  and 
Schiller,  sculptured  from  the  purest  marble  of  Carrara.  A 
bright  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and  the  ruddy  light,  flash- 
ing and  glancing  on  the  polished  oaken  panels,  had  a 
pleasant,  cheerful  aspect.  A  large  book  was  on  the  table 
before  him  ;  his  spectacles  lay  between  the  leaves,  and  he 
himself,  with  hands  folded  and  eyes  closed,  reclined  in  his 
easy  chair,  probably  digesting  what  he  had  read. 

The  door  was  opened  with  a  quick,  rapid  jerk,  and 
Robert  entered,  without  the  least  excuse,  closing  it  care- 


ERNEST  GREY.  207 

fully  after  him.  His  features,  though  pale  and  agitated, 
were  expressive  of  firm  resolve  ;  no  trace  of  the  youthful 
joyousness  that  formerly  distinguished  him,  could  be  dis- 
covered in  that  countenance — the  character  of  the  indi- 
vidual seemed  to  have  undergone  a  radical  change. 

"  Father,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  had  you  ever  a  man  in 
your  employment  called  Grey — Ernest  Grey  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  what  of  him  ?" 

"  Why  did  he  leave  you  ?     What  became  of  him  ?" 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care  what  became  of  him.  He  was 
a  worthless  fellow." 

"  But  why  did  he  leave  you  ?"  persisted  Robert.  "  Where 
did  he  go  to  ?" 

"To  prison,"  replied  Mr.  Clements,  shortly — "to  prison, 
sir,  I  repeat.  But  what  interest  do  you  take  in  this  man, 
Robert  ?  Why  do  you  catechize  me  about  him  ?  Do  you 
know  anything  of  him  ?" 

"  I  heard  to-night,  by  the  merest  chance,  that  you 
charged  him  with  feloniously  abstracting  fifty  dollars  from 
your  desk.  Is  that  true,  father  ?" 

"  Perfectly  true.     What  of  it  ?" 

"When  did  it  happen?" 

"I  suppose  I  shall  know,  presently,  the  drift  of  these 
questions,  Robert." 

"  Yes,  father  ;  you  will  know  it  soon  enough — too  soon," 
he  muttered  to  himself. 


208  THE   CONFESSION. 

"  Well,  it  happened  before  you  left  the  city  with  your 
wild  companions — if  that  is  not  precise  enough,  it  happened 
the  very  day  you  were  in  the  office." 

Robert  went  to  the  window  and  rested  his  throbbing 
temples  on  the  glass. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  this  man  ?"  inquired  "Mr.  Cle- 
ments, after  a  pause,  which  his  son  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
break.  "I  desire  to  know  the  meaning  of  these  questions. 
You  came  into  this  room  to-night  with  a  settled  purpose  : 
explain  it." 

"  One  question  more,  father,"  said  Robert,  placing  him- 
self on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  opposite  to  Mr.  Cle- 
ments ;  "  but  one,  and  then  I  will  speak.  Did  you  prose- 
cute that  man  rigorously  ?  If  you  can  answer  it  in  the 
negative,  do  so,  for  Heaven's  sake." 

"You  and  I  appear  to  have  changed  positions,"  said 
Mr.  Clements,  with  cold  displeasure.  "  I  do  not  know  why 
I  have  answered  so  many  questions  ;  but  this  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  replying  to  :  I  acted  in  accordance  with  my 
duty  to  society.  I.  presume  that  is  sufficient  answer." 

Duty  to  society,  thought  Robert,  like  charity,  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  that  man  has 
been  unjustly  accused  :  he  did  not  take  the  money." 

"  Then,  who  did  ?"  cried  Mr.  Clements,  starting  to  his 
feet  and  confronting  his  son — "who  did?  I  insist  upon 


ERNEST  OBEY.  209 

knowing.  Some  one  that  you  know,  Robert — that's  very 
evident ;  and  let  him  be  who  he  will,  he  shall  suffer.  Who 
did  it  ?" 

"  I  did,"  said  Robert,  in  a  low,  firm  voice.  "  I  alone  did  it." 

Mr.  Clements  staggered  as  if  he  had  received  a  mortal 
blow,  and  leaned  heavily  upon  the  table. 

"YouT  he  said,  slowly.  "My  son  !  I  cannot  believe  it. 
Say  it  is  not  true,  Robert — I  entreat." 

"  Father,  I  cannot,"  replied  Robert.  "  It  is  true  ;  and 
worse  remains  to  be  told.  This  man's  character  was  so 
injured  by  that  accusation  that  he  was  ultimately  forced 
into  crime — driven  into  it  by  self-preservation,  for  the  means 
of  subsistence  were  denied  him." 

11  And  how  can  you  tell  this  to  me,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  Mr 
Clements,  fiercely.  "  How  can  you  excuse  the  mean  atroc- 
ity of  such  conduct — the  enormity  of  such  a  dastardly  sin  ? 
What ! — not  content  with  defrauding  me,  your  father,  you 
must  fling  the  odium  of  your  act  on  another — one,  too,  so 
poor  that  he  might  naturally  be  suspected — so  circum- 
stanced that  probabilities  became  proofs — so  isolated  that 
no  one  could  testify  to  his  character — so  friendless  that 
there  was  none  to  help  him.  Had  you  nerve  to  commit 
the  sin,  and  not  enough  to  face  the  consequences  ?  An- 
swer, Robert  Clements.  Heavens  !  that  a  son  of  mine 
should  be  so  degraded — not  only  vicious,  but  a  coward  in 
vice  !" 


210  THE   CONFESSION. 

"  You  wrong  me,  father  ;  I  knew  nothing  of  the  charge," 
exclaimed  Robert. 

"  How  can  you  extenuate  the  cunning  wickedness  of  your 
after  acts,  your  crafty  quietness,  your  politic  silence  ?"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Clements,  not  heeding  the  interruption. 

"If  my  motive  in  being  silent  was  to  throw  suspicion 
upon  another,  why  do  I  speak  now  ?"  said  Robert,  warmly. 
"  All  that  is  necessary  is  to  act  as  I  have  hitherto  done. 
But  no  ;  that  I  could  not  do.  I  knew  not  that  suspicion 
had  fallen  upon  any  one.  If  I  had,  I  would  have  thrown 
every  personal  consideration  to  the  winds,  and  acknowledged 
myself  guilty ;  but  I  heard  it  to-night  for  the  first  time. 
As  for  the  money,  I  wanted  it  not  to  supply  my  extrava- 
gance, but  to  lend  to  a  friend." 

"  A  friend !"  repeated  Mr.  Clements,  indignantly.  "  Why 
did  you  not  apply  to  me  ?" 

"  To  what  purpose  ?"  asked  Robert,  quickly.  "  Would 
you  have  given  it  to  me  ?  Would  you  have  had  any 
regard  for  my  feelings  ?  No  ;  you  have  been  to  me  a 
father,  but  not  a  friend,  and  while  you  repelled  my  confi- 
dence, wondered  I  did  not  confide  in  you.  How  could  I 
apply  to  you  for  money,  when  the  very  word  evoked  bitter 
feelings  ?  Oh,  father  !  why  were  you  not  more  forbearing 
— the  slightest  consideration,  the  smallest  indulgence  would 
have  saved  me  from  the  horrors  of  remorse.  But  there  is 
no  use  in  referring  to  the  past.  I  must  do  something  at 


ERNEST   GREY.  211 

once.  I  must  see  him  before  I  take  any  steps  towards  his 
justification." 

"  What  steps  ?  By  inculpating  yourself?"  inquired  Mr. 
Clements,  nervously. 

"  Yes.  No  other  course  remains  open  to  me,"  replied 
his  son,  leaving  the  room. 

"  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  imperatively,  "  I  charge 
you  proceed  no  further  with  this  business  until  you  see  me 
in  the  morning." 

The  door  was  closed,  and  Mr.  Clements  was  left  once 
more  to  his  own  reflections.  He  walked  backwards  and 
forwards  iu  a  state  of  painful  indecision,  unable  to  deter- 
mine what  line  of  conduct  he  ought  to  pursue.  His  sense 
of  justice  told  him  that  Ernest  Grey  ought  to  be  vindicated 
at  any  cost ;  and  had  the  guilty  party  been  any  other  than 
his  own  son,  he  would  have  insisted  on  an  open  and  ample 
avowal ;  but  let  him  reason  as  he  would,  that  was  the 
uppermost  idea  in  his  mind,  and  that  disgrace  should  fall 
upon  him  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  Some 
means  must  be  devised  to  atone  for  the  injury  done  to 
Ernest  Grey,  without  implicating  him.  With  bitter  self- 
reproach  he  reviewed  his  conduct  towards  him,  and  was 
constrained  to  acknowledge  to  himself  it  was  but  little  cal- 
culated to  inspire  confidence  or  affection — nay,  more,  that 
Robert's  error  could  be  traced  back  to  it  as  clearly  as  any 
event  to  its  cause  :  it  was  the  root  of  the  evil — it  was  the 


212  VINDICATION   OP  ERNEST  GREY. 

first  link  in  the  chain.  He  saw,  too,  that  his  system  was 
defective  throughout,  and  that  the  discipline  on  which  he 
prided  himself  had  alienated  and  ruined  his  son.  Never  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  life  did  he  undergo  such  a  rigid 
self-examination  as  that  night,  and  the  result  was  an  abiding 
conviction  that  he  was  not  privileged  to  "  throw  the  first 
stone." 

In  the  morning  he  proceeded  to  his  study,  and  had  not 
been  long  there  before  Robert  entered  ;  but  how  unlike  the 
gay,  thoughtless  Robert  of  a  few  months  ago.  Days  with 
him  had  done  the  work  of  years  :  the  ever  ready  smile  had 
vanished,  the  careless  gaiety  of  youth  was  gone. 

"  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  abruptly,  "  leave  this  mat- 
ter in  my  hands.  This  is  a  case  in  which  I  and  every 
member  of  my  family  are  as  deeply  interested  as  you,  for 
you  cannot,  if  you  would,  confine  the  consequences  of  an 
open  acknowledgment  to  yourself.  Therefore  I  demand,  as 
a  reparation  due  to  me,  that  you  will  remain  passive. 
Ernest  Grey  shall  be  fully  exculpated — that  you  may 
depend  upon.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  justice  ;  but  I  re- 
serve to  myself  the  right  of  doing  so  in  the  manner  most 
consonant  to  my'own  feelings." 

"  But  how,  and  when  ?" 

"I  shall  make  no  unnecessary  delay.  But  understand 
distinctly  that  I  do  not  intend  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  state  of  the  case  further  than  this  :  that  the  real 


ERNEST  GREY.  213 

culprit  is  known  to  me,  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt. 
That  is  all  that  is  requisite  for  him  to  know.  I  insist  that 
you  repose  no  confidence  in  him,  that  the  honor  of  my 
family  be  not  intrusted  to  his  keeping.  This  much  I  have 
a  right  to  expect,  and  if  you  wish  me  to  overlook  that 
transaction,  to  erase  it  from  my  memory,  you  will  acquiesce 
in  my  views.  Speak,  but  remember  I  cannot  outlive  dis- 
grace." 

"  Do  as  you  will,  father,"  replied  Robert.  "  If  Ernest 
Grey  is  vindicated,  I  am  indifferent  as  to  the  means." 

"  Something  more  than  mere  vindication  is  due  to  him," 
said  Mr.  Clements.  "  You  owe  him  reparation  ;  but  that 
1  shall  leave  in  your  hands." 

"  Father,"  said  Robert,  deeply  moved  by  conduct  so 
unexpected,  "  why  were  you  not  kind  sooner,  or  why  now  ? 
Reproach  me  ; — I  can  bear  it  better." 

"  Because  you  are  better  used  to  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Clements, 
interrogatively.  "  Well,  perhaps  so.  Does  your  mother, 
or  Agatha  know  anything  about  this  matter  ?  They  do 
not.  It  is  better  so.  Make  no  allusion  to  it  when  we  meet, 
Robert,  and  avoid  exciting  curiosity  by  any  marked  change 
in  your  manner.  You  will  find  me  here  this  evening  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  the  course  I  have 
pursued." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

ERNEST   GREY    IN    THE    DOCK WHAT   HE    SAYS    FOR   HIMSELF 

THE   JUDGE    AND   MR.  CLEMENTS THE    REPARATION. 

ANY  one  passing  the  Court  House  on  the  morning  of  which 
we  write,  might  have  conjectured  that  a  trial  of  more  than 
ordinary  interest,  that  is,  evolving  a  more  than  ordinary 
amount  of  human  suffering  or  depravity,  was  progressing 
within  its  walls.  And  they  would  have  been  right  in  such 
a  conjecture,  for  there  is  in  human  nature  a  strong  love  for 
the  horrible  or  tragic.  Whether  this  arises,  as  Burke  sup- 
poses, from  the  pleasure  we  feel  in  having  our  sympathies 
excited  by  actual  or  ideal  objects,  matters  little — there  is 
no  doubt  as  to  the  existence  of  the  feeling  itself.  On  the 
morning  in  question  the  Court  House  was  crowded  to  excess 
by  an  eager,  excited  multitude,  drawn  thither  by  this  feel- 
ing, for  a  daring  burglar  was  to  receive  sentence,  and  they 
were  there  to  enjoy  the  horrors  of  the  scene.  The  sentence 
was  pronounced,  the  prisoner  removed,  and  the  crowd,  inte- 
rested only  in  A  No.  1  criminals,  hurried  out  to  their 
avocations,  and  endeavored,  by  redoubled  energy,  to  make 


ERNEST  GREY.  215 

np  for  lost  time.  The  next  case  was  one  of  grand  larceny, 
and  the  accused,  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  was  placed  in 
the  dock.  As  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  judge,  Ernest 
(rivy — it  was  he— started  and  changed  color,  for  on  the 
bench,  to  outward  seeming  cold  and  passionless  as  a  statue, 
was  the  judge  who  had  before  tried  and  discharged  him 
• — the  man  to  whom  he  had  applied  for  work,  and  by  whom 
his  application  was  spurned  with  contempt. 

The  trial  proceeded,  the  evidence  was  clear  and  conclu- 
sive ;  there  was  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  his  guilt. 
The  police  deposed  that  they  had  seen  him  some  nights 
previous,  under  suspicious  circumstances,  that  he  had  been 
lurking  about  the  haunts  of  depraved  and  evil-disposed 
characters,  that  he  had  passed  nights  in  those  localities, 
and  that,  the  very  night  before  he  ha,d  committed  the 
robbery  in  Pearl  street,  he  had  a  long  conversation  with 
the  notorious  Dick  the  Burglar,  and  that  he  had  received 
from  him  a  moderate  sized  bundle,  which  he  conveyed  to  his 
home.  There  was  no  evidence  for  the  defense,  no  attempt 
to  rebut  or  discredit  the  testimony,  and  the  jury,  without 
leaving  their  seats,  returned  a  unanimous  verdict  of  guilty. 
Before  passing  sentence,  the  judge  enquired  whether  the 
prisoner  had  anything  to  say.  Ernest  Grey  rose  in  the 
dock  and  addressed  the  Court,  his  voice  trembling  at  first, 
but  gaining  strength  as  he  proceeded. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  few  words  to  say,  not  for  my  own  sake — 


216  WHAT   HE   SAYS   FOR  HIMSELF. 

they  caniiot  affect  ray  case  ;  but  for  the  sake  of  others  who, 
under  like  circumstances,  may  act  as  I  have  done.  I  took 
the  money  ;  I  committed  the  theft  of  which  I  have  been 
found  guilty  ;  I  confess  it,  and  I  ask,  what  man  in  this 
Court  would  have  done  otherwise  ?  You  have  heard  that 
my  wife  was  dying,  my  child  starving — what  was  I  to  do  ? 
For  days  I  had  walked  the  city  looking  for  work,  begging 
for  work — your  honor  knows  I  speak  the  truth — as  no 
beggar  ever  begged  for  alms,  and  yet  I  was  an  innocent 
man,  guiltless  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  guiltless  in  the  eye  of 
the  law.  Yes,  standing  here  as  I  do,  a  convicted,  self- 
acknowledged  thief,  I  declare  solemnly  that  not  a  juror  in 
the  box,  not  the  judge  upon  the  bench,  was  more  guiltless 
of  that  robbery  than  I  was. 

"It  is  in  evidence  that  I  frequented  the  haunts  of  the 
depraved  after  my  discharge.  I  sought  my  wife  and  child 
among  the  poor,  in  miserable,  under-ground  hovels,  in  the 
home  of  wretchedness,  and  there  I  found  them.  Should  I 
have  sought  them  in  Fifth  Avenue  or  Union  Square  ?  As 
for  'Dick  the  Burglar,'  I  met  him  after  I  had  asked 
charity  from  many  a  Pharisee  and  been  refused,  and  he, 
the  outcast,  the  Samaritan,  having  no  fear  of  the  world 
before  him,  no  dread  of  contamination,  forced  me'' — the 
prisoner  paused  in  uncontrollable  emotion,  and  passed  his 
hand  across  his  eyes — "  to  take  the  food  he  had  just  bought 
for  himself.  That's  the  bundle  of  which  you  have  heard. 


HE     HAD     BEEN    THRUST     INTO     THE     COMMON     PRISON,    WHERE 
MEN    AND    BOYS    OF    EVERY    ACE    HAP    BEEN    GROUPED    TOGETHER. 


ERNEST  GRET.  217 

Throughout  all,  my  poverty  has  been  my  real  crime.  But 
for  it  I  would  not  have  been  suspected  at  first ;  but  for  it 
I  would  not  be  guilty  now. 

"  God  knows  I  have  striven  hard  to  keep  my  footing, 
and  the  outskirts  of  society  is  a  slippery  place  to  stand  firm 
in,  even  in  the  best  of  times.  •  Through  cold  and  hunger, 
through  wretched  days  and  sleepless  nights,  I  have  strug- 
gled, and  iu  the  midst  of  this  struggle  I  was  flung  into 
prison.  From  that  moment  I  was  a  marked  man  ;  the 
brand  of  Cain  was  on  me  ;  the  law  had  touched  me.  What 
was  I  to  do  ?  Let  those  who  say  '  starve,'  try  it.  It  is 
easy  to  be  virtuous  when  not  tempted  ;  it  is  easy  for  a  man 
to  stand  when  he  is  propped  up  on  every  side. 

"  At  that  time  I  applied  to  your  Honor  for  work.  You 
refused  me.  How,  you  may  remember  ;  I  never  can  forget. 
I  do  not  mean  to  reproach  you  ;  if  your  own  conscience  is 
silent,  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  speak.  But  this  I  must 
say — had  you  treated  me  then  as  a  man,  you  would  not 
now  be  condemning  me  as  a  criminal.  I  have  done  :  do 
you  pass  sentence." 

A  murmur  of  sympathy  and  applause  pervaded  the 
Court  as  Grey  ceased  speaking  ;  but  it  was  speedily  re- 
pressed, and  order  re-established.  The  Judge  then  pro- 
nounced sentence,  and  Ernest  Grey  was  condemned  ^o 
two  years  imprisonment  in  the  Sing  Sing  prison. 

Toward?  evening  the  Judge  returned  home,  exhausted 


218       THE  JUDGE  AND  MR.  CLEMENTS. 

by  the  harassing  nature  of  his  duties,  and  thinking  more  of 
Ernest  Grey  than  he  would  willingly  acknowledge,  even  to 
himself.  He  found  a  gentleman  awaiting  his  return,  with 
a  stern  patience  that  no  delay  could  tire  out.  On  the 
entrance  of  the  Judge,  he  arose  and  requested  a  private 
interview,  as  he  had  an  important  communication  to  make. 

"  My  name  is  Clements,"  he  said,  bowing.  "  Perhaps 
you  may  remember  it  as  being  connected  with  the  case  of 
the  man  Grey,  recently  tried  before  you  for  grand  larceny." 

"  That  man  again,"  muttered  the  Judge  ;  "  what  next  ? 
I  recollect  the  case  you  allude  to,  perfectly,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  for  several  circumstances  have  concurred  to  impress  it  on 
my  memory.  He  was  acquitted  on  that  charge  for  want 
of  sufficient  testimony,  though  I  doubt  not  your  suspicions 
were  well  grounded." 

"  They  were  unjust,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  earnestly.  "  Still 
I  think  not  altogether  unjustifiable,  for  appearances  were 
against  him.  Nevertheless,  the  man  is  guiltless." 

"  How  was  his  innocence  made  manifest  ?  Did  you  re- 
cover the  money  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  must  know  who  perpetrated  the  robbery  ?" 

"  Know  him,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  slowly,  the  convulsive 

» 

twitching  about  his  mouth  betraying  painful  emotion ; 
"yes,  I  know  him." 

"  His  name  ?"  inquired  the  Judge. 


ERNEST  GREY.  219 

"  I  do  not  choose  to  reveal  it,  sir,"  was  the  quick  reply 

"As  you  will,  Mr.  Clements,"  said  the  Judge,  coldly. 
"  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  you  were  not  as  chary  of  Grey's 
reputation ;  but  I  presume  the  individual  who  is  now 
shielded  from  obloquy,  though  guilty,  is  not  one  of  your 
employees." 

"  Your  inference  is  unfair  and  unwarranted,"  replied  Mr. 
Clements  ;  "  and  if  my  conscience  were  free  from  reproach 
in  this  matter,  I  might  resent  it ;  but  let  it  pass.  My 
object  in  calling  to  you,  sir,  was  to  vindicate  one,  not  to 
accuse  another.  I  know  that  the  man  was  acquitted,  but 
I  know  likewise  that,  in  some  cases,  the  verdict  of  the  Jury 
has  no  moral  effect.  Besides,  I  was  informed,  I  know  not 
how  correctly,  that  he  has  been  committed  a  second  time, 
and  I  was  in  hopes  that  my  statement  would  have  the 
effect  of  mitigating  his  punishment." 

"  If  the  guilty  party  had  been  less  tardy  in  making  this 
acknowledgment,  it  might  have  had  the  effect  you  antici- 
pated ;  but,  unfortunately,  Grey  has  been  convicted  to- 
day, and  sentenced  to  two  years  imprisonment.  The  only 
thing  that  can  be  done  now  is,  to  embody  the  facts  of  the 
case  in  a  petition  to  the  Governor,  and  that  may  obtain 
a  modification  of  his  punishment.  I  would  be  glad  to  aid 
it  as  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  for  I  owe  the  unfortunate  man 
amends  for  some  harshness  I  exhibited  towards  him  in  my 
private  capacity.  When  he  left  prison  he  found  himself 


220       THE  JUDGE  AND  MR.  CLEMENTS. 

cast  off  by  every  one  :  he  could  obtain  no  employment ;  he 
was  literally  starving  ; — at  last  he  applied  to  me,  and  I — " 
he  paused,  realizing  for  the  first  time  that  it  was  an  inno- 
cent man  into  whose  bitter  cup  he  had  infused  additional 
bitterness. 

"  And  you,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  eagerly  lifting  the  thread 
of  the  discourse  which  the  other  had  let  drop — "  you  heark- 
ened to  him." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  Judge,  with  a  slight  tinge  of 
bitterness  in  his  manner  ;  "  I  did  not,  for  I  placed  more 
confidence  in  the  affidavit  of  the  accuser  than  the  assertion 
of  the  accused,  and  I  believed  that,  though  you  failed  to 
prove  the  alleged  crime,  there  must  have  been  something  in 
the  man's  character  that  justified  your  suspicion.  Still  my 
part  in  this  affair,  I  am  free  to  confess,  has  caused  me  more 
regret  than  any  other  occurrence  I  remember,  and  I  do  not 
envy  the  feelings  of  the  individual,  whoever  he  may  be, 
that  shifted  the  burden  of  his  crime  on  the  shoulders  of  an 
innocent  man." 

"The  person  you  allude  to,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  make  it  firm, 
"  knew  not  that  another  suffered  for  his  crime,  until  yester- 
day. The  moment  he  became  aware  of  it,  he  sought  me 
and  confessed  all.  He  would  willingly  have  exonerated 
Grey  at  his  own  expense,  but  I — "  Mr.  Clements  stopped 
suddenly,  fearful  of  betraying  his  secret,  and  glanced  at  the 


ERNEST   GREY.  221 

Judge,  to  discover  what  construction  he  placed  upon  his 
manifest  anxiety  to  spare  the  feelings  of  the  real  culprit. 
But  he  could  gather  nothing  from  the  countenance  before 
him,  for  the  Judge  was  accustomed  to  control  his  feelings, 
and  neither  by  word  or  look  did  he  give  any  indication  of 
what  was  passing  in  his  mind  ;  and  he  added,  hurriedly — • 
"  Well,  I  undertook  to  arrange  the  matter  myself." 

"  Well  satisfied,  I  presume,  that  he  had  been  punished 
sufficiently  through  another." 

"  Xo,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Clements,  firmly  ;  "  very  far  from 
it ;  you  misunderstand  me,  totally  :  I  could  not  recall  the 
past,  but  I  could  profit  by  it.  I  was  not  satisfied  that  the 
innocent  should  suffer  for  the  guilty  ;  but  I  was  satisfied 
that  the  guilty  had  suffered  more  than  enough.  Did  the 
man  he  unintentionally  injured  know  the  bitterness  of  his 
self-accusation  and  remorse,  he  would  forgive  him." 

"How  do  you  intend  to  proceed  in  this  matter,  Mr. 
Clements  ?  What  are  your  ulterior  views  ?" 

"  I  shall  write  to  Grey  and  inform  him  of  all  that  has' 
come  to  my  knowledge,  and  carry  out  your  suggestion 
relating  to  the  petition." 

"  As  I  have  stated  before,"  remarked  the  Judge,  "  I  will 
cheerfully  give  my  assistance  towards  forwarding  that 
object,  and  I  cannot  forbear  saying  that  I  honor  you,  Mr. 
Clements,  for  your  noble  determination  to  repair  an  injury 
you  have  inflicted,  though  unintentionally.  I  entertain  no 


222  THE   REPARATION. 

doubt  of  your  success.  But  do  not  imagine  that  Grey  will 
be  liberated  instantly  ;  the  utmost  to  be  expected  is  an 
abridgment  of  his  term  of  confinement." 

"  That  is  all  I  look  for,"  said  Mr.  Clements.  "  I  shall 
do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  upon  you  in  the  course  of  a 
few  days,  to  let  you  know  how  the  affair  progresses." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

STEVE'S  VISIT  TO  THE  PRISON — THE  FATHER'S  GRIEF. 

WHILE  Mr.  Clements  and  the  Judge  were  conversing  in 
relation  to  Ernest  Grey,  he  sat  brooding  over  his  troubles 
in  the  prison-cell  already  familiar  to  our  readers.  The  idea 
of  being  separated  from  his  family  at  such  a  time,  weighed 
more  heavily  on  his  mind  than,  the  thought  of  his  long 
imprisonment.  His  wife's  illness  too,  perhaps,  had  ended 
fatally.  He  repulsed  the  idea  with  all  his  might,  but 
still,  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  presentiment,  it  returned, 
and  stronger  after  every  repulse.  How  else  could  he  ac- 
count for  not  having  received  a  message  from  her,  were  it 
only  to  say  that  she  was  better.  It  was  his  last  night  in 
New  York  for  two  years  to  come,  and  if  to-morrow  brought 
him  no  intelligence,  what  was  he  to  do  ? 

In  the  morning  he  awoke,  dreading  that  he  would  be 
removed  before  twelve  o'clock  ;  but  one  and  two  passed 
without  his  receiving  orders  for  departure,  and  he  waited, 
hope  growing  fainter  every  moment,  for  a  farewell  greeting, 
or  some  token  that  he  was  remembered  outside  the  prison. 


224  STEVE'S  VISIT  TO  THE  PRISON. 

The  sound  of  his  own  name,  in  accents  not  unfamiliar^  made 
him  start,  and  turning  in  the  direction  of  it,  he  recognized 
the  kindly  countenance  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald.  Grasping  her 
hand  until  she-  winced  under  the  convulsive  pressure,  he 
gazed  into  her  face,  anxious  to  know  the  tidings  she 
brought,  but  afraid  to  ask. 

"  Sorry7 1  am  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Grey,"  she  said,  anx- 
ious to  defer  the  evil  moment,  and  to  avoid  answering  his 
unspoken  question  ;  "  but  it  has  been  many  a  good  man's 
luck  before  you,  and  will  be  again,  I'm  afeard." 

"  How  is  Jane,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  ?"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  Is 
she  better  or  worse  ?  Tell  me  everything." 

"  It's  the  sorrowful  news  I  have  to  tell,"  she  replied  ; 
"  but  you  must  bear  it  like  a  man,  and  not  fly  in  the  face 
of  God." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  Is  she 
worse  ?" 

"  Worse  !  Oh,  no,  but  far  better,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald, 
with  deep  solemnity — "far  better  off,  poor  thing.  She's 
done  with  trouble." 

"  Done  with  trouble  !"  exclaimed  Ernest,  wildly  :  "  then 
she  must  be  dead." 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald's  tears  fell  fast,  as  she  saw  the  agony 
.  of  the  wretched  man  before  her,  and  she  feared  to  answer. 

"Speak,"  he  added,  with  the  impatient  vehemence  of 
sorrow.  "  What !  are  you  afraid  to  speak,  and  I  not  afraid 


ERNEST  GREY.  225 

to  listen  ?  But  what  use — I  know  she's  dead — dead  and 
done  with  trouble." 

"God  comfort  you  !"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  deeply  moved. 
"  I  know  it's  a  hard  trial ;  but  He  that  tempers  the  wind 
to  the  shorn  lamb  will  give  you  strength  to  bear  it."  And 
unwilling  that  he  should  feel  himself  an  object  of  observa- 
tion, she  turned  aside,  commiserating  the  stern  sorrow  that 
neither  wished  nor  sought  for  sympathy. 

How  imperfectly  can  we  estimate  the  depth  and  intensity 
of  any  one's  feelings  ?  Who  that  looked  on  Ernest  Grey 
as  he  sat,  rigid  and  motionless,  as  still,  and,  apparently,  as 
cold  as  marble,,  could  have  imagined  the  fearful  struggle 
that  was  raging  within  ?  At  last  it  was  over. 

"  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,"  he  said,  rising  hurriedly,  and  looking 
round  to  see  if  she  was  still  there,  "I  want  you  to  tell 
me  everything  she  said  or  did — everything,  and  what  she 
suffered,  that  I  may  understand  the  extent  of  the  sel- 
fishness that  would  wish  her  alive  again.  Did  she  speak 
of  me  ?" 

"  Your  name  was  the  last  word  in  her  mouth,"  replied 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald  ;  "  and  I  think  I  hear  her  yet  calling 
'  Ernest !  Ernest !'  in  a  way  that  would  make  your  hair 
stand  on  end." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Grey,  sternly  repressing  every  sign  of 
emotion — "  go  on,  and  tell  me  all." 

And  she  did  tell  him  all  that  happened  from  the  moment 


226  STEVE'S  VISIT  TO  THE  PRISON. 

Jane  became  aware  of  his  arrest,  until  she  breathed  her 
last,  and  ended  by  exhorting  him  to  bear  up,  for  the  sake 
of  his  motherless  child. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Why  did  you  not  bring  him  to  see  his 
father — perhaps  it  will  be  the  last  time." 

"  I  did  bring  him,  and  left  him  below  for  a  little  while," 
replied  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  ;  "  but  I'll  go  for  him  now." 

She  was  absent  but  a  few  minutes,  but  how  long  they 
seemed  to  Ernest  Grey,  as  he  desired,  yet  dreaded  to  see 
his  child.  Still,  much  as  he  wished  to  see  Steve,  he  felt 
that  he.  would  rather  forego  that  pleasure  than  be  associ- 
ated in  his  mind  with  a  prison  and  its  inmates,  for  if  not 
honorably  remembered,  he  wished  to  be  forgotten. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  I  don't  see  him,"  said  Steve,  clinging 
closely  to  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  as  he  looked  round  the  cell, 
startled  by  the  strange  faces  that  met  his  view  on  every 
side.  "  Oh  [  here  he  is  I — here  he  is  1" 

"  Steve  !  Steve  !"  murmured  Grey,  pressing  him  passion- 
ately to  his  heart,  and  bedewing  his  cheek  with  tears,  the 
first  he  shed  since  he  heard  of  his  wife's  death — "  oh,  Steve  1 
where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  She's  in  Heaven  1"  said  the  child,  reverently,  and  look- 
ing upwards. 

"  God  bless  the  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Fitzgerald.  "  It  does 
one  good  to  hear  him.  So  she  is,  darling." 

"  Don't  cry,  father,"  added  St.ve,  anxious  to  soothe  his 


ERNEST  GREY.  227 

grief.  "  We'll  go,  too,  when  we  get  wings.  Oh,  I  would 
like  to  go." 

"  Hnsh  !  Steve." 

Sorrow  inclines  to  superstition,  and  Ernest  Grey  shrank 
when  he  heard  the  child's  wish,  as  if  it  were  an  omen  of 
death.  "  What  do  you  think  of  him,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  ?" 
he  said,  turning  to  her.  "  Don't  you  think  he  looks  very 
bad?" 

"  He  doesn't  look  well,"  was  the  evasive  reply  ;  "  but  he 
will  by-and-bye." 

They  were  now  notified  that  the  tune  was  up,  and  Ernest, 
embracing  the  child,  told  him  he  must  go. 

"You  are  glad,  Steve,"  said  his  father,  observing  how 
pleased  he  looked.  "  Don't  you  like  this  place  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  at  all — it  ain't  nice.  Come,  father,  come,"  he 
said,  taking  him  by  the  hand  and  pulling  him  towards  the 
door. 

"  I  am  not  going,  Steve.     I  must  stop  here." 

"  You  mustn't  stop  here  any  more,  father.  It's  an  ugly 
place.  I  wish  my  mamma  was  here,"  said  poor  Steve, 
bursting  into  tears,  "  and  she'd  make  you  come." 

"  Oh  !  Stevey — what  are  you  saying  ?"  said  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald, frightened  at  the  effect  his  artless  exoression  had  on 
Grey. 

"Well,  don't  let  my  father  stay." 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald  shook  her  head. 


228  THE  FATHER'S  GRIEF. 

4 
".Don't  you  let  him,"  said  Steve,  eutreatingly,  to  the 

Keeper.     "  You  make  him  come." 

"  Here's  a  go  !"  said  the  man,  softening  as  he  thought 
of  his  V>wn  children.  "  I'm  blest,  but  I'd  like  to,  but  I 
can't  do  it,  my  little  man." 

"  If  I  was  a  big  man,"  replied  Steve,  "  I'd  make 
him." 

"  Come  here,  my  son,"  said  Ernest,  calmly,  "  and  listen 
to  me.  I  am  going  away  for  a  long  time,  Steve  ;  but 
when  I  come  back  I'll  go  home  with  you.  Won't  that 
do  ?  and  you'll  be  a  good  child  while  I'm  away  ;  and  if 
I  should  never  see  yon  again,  my  boy,"  Ernest  paused 
abruptly,  for  his  voice  faltered — "  God  bless  you,  Steve  ! 
Now  go." 

"  I'll  stay  with  you,"  cried  Stere,  grasping  him  tightly 
by  the  arm.  "  I'd  rather  stay.  Do  let  me,  father." 

"  Take  him  away,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  I  beg,"  said  Ernest, 
in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion — "  take  him  away.  I  won't 
ask  you  to  be  kind  to  Mm  j  but  the  conviction  that  you 
will,  is  my  only  consolation." 

"  Don't  fret  about  him,"  she  replied.  "  Kind  to  him  ! 
why,  then,  indeed,  I  will.  Who  could  be  anything  else  ? 
And  keep  up  your  spirits,  Mr.  Grey,  and  remember 
tha-t  you  have  your  child  to  live  for.  <God  be  with 

you!"       <^**s£j'».?w? ,««,... 

Lifting  Steve  in  her  arms,  she  retreated  hastily,  lest 


ERNEST   GREY.  229 

the  sound  of  his  grief  might  add  to  his  father's,  and 
endeavored,  by  caresses  and  argument,  to  soothe  him  into 
quiet.  But  it  was  long  ere  she  succeeded,  for  the  sensi- 
tive child  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  horrors  of  the 
prison,  and  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  leaving 
his  father  behind. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

ERNEST    GREY   IN    SING    SING — THE    BRUTAL   KEEPER — CRUEL 
TREATMENT    OF    FRANK   HILL THE    S*HOWER   BATH. 

WHEN  Ernest  Grey  reached  the  prison  that  was  to  be  his 
abode  for  the  next  two  years,  he  expected  that  here  at 
least  he  would  be  permitted  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  solitude. 
But  he  soon  found  that,  though  there  were  separate  cells 
for  the  convicts,  and  though  the  same  inequality  in  vice 
prevailed  here  as  in  the  elementary  prisons,  the  communica- 
tion was  constant  and  uninterrupted.  The  man  convicted 
of  larceny  associated  with  burglars  and  highway  robbers, 
until  he  scorned  his  petty  vices,  and  longed  for  an  opportu- 
nity to  soar  above  what  he  was,  and  signalize  himself  as 
they  had  done.  Human  nature  never  stands  still ;  if  it 
does  not  progress,  it  retrogrades,  and  this  holds  good  in  a 
prison  as  well  as  in  the  world,  for  it  is  the  same  everywhere, 
subject  to  the  same  influences,  and  liable  to  be  rendered 
sullen  and  dogged  by  harsh  treatment,  whether  in  the  pent- 
up  cell  of  a  prison,  or  the  privacy  of  home. 

As  soon  as '  Ernest  Grey  appeared  among  the  prisoners, 


ERNEST  GREY.  231 

he  was  recognized  by  several  of  them  who  had  been  in  the 
Tombs  while  he  was  awaiting  his  trial.  In  happier  times 
this  would  have  mortified  him  exceedingly,  but  what  did  it 
matter  to  him  now  ?  he  had  sunk  too  low  to  rise,  and  but 
for  Steve's  sake,  he  had  lost  all  desire. 

"  You're  getting  on  famously,"  said  one,  slapping  him  on 
the  shoulder,  when  the  keeper  left  the  room.  "  Far  enough 
to  get  a  new  name,  or  a  new  number.  What  is  your 
number  ?  Don't  know.  Well,  you  will  soon.  What  did 
you  do  this  time  ? — same  old  thing — eh  ?  stealing — pah  I 
Why  didn't  you  try  a  higher  branch  ?" 

"He  ain't  puffed  up  with  his  promotion,"  remarked 
another,  "  I  don't  think.  He  looks  glum  enough  to  sour 
a  barrel  of  beer.  Leave  him  be,  and  come  here  :  I  want 
to  know  all  about  that  last  scrape  you  was  in." 

And  Ernest  Grey  was  left  to  himself  for  several  days, 
and  moved  mechanically  from  his  cell  to  the  workshop,  from 
the  workshop  to  the  dining  hall,  as  he  was  ordered,  and 
worked  and  ate,  and  drank,  and  retired  to  rest,  and  rose 
again  at  stated  hours,  with  an  indifference  that  amounted 
to  apathy.  But  gradually  he  became  interested  in  what 
was  passing  around  him,  and  felt  himself  irresistibly  at- 
tracted towards  one  of  his  fellow-prisoners,  a  mild-looking 
youth  of  not  more  than  eighteen  summers.  From  him  he 
learned  that  there  existed  a  very  general  feeling  of  dissatis- 
faction among  the  prisoners,  which  might  manifest  itself  at 


232  THE   BRUTAL   KEEPER. 

any  moment.  It  was  attributable  mainly  to  the  harshness 
of  one  of  the  keepers,  whose  domineering  temper,  and  habit 
of  inflicting  punishment  for  slight  offences,  rendered  him 
generally  obnoxious.  Coercion  was  his  only  recognized 
reformatory  agent,  and  any  other  way  of  dealing  with  con- 
victs he  considered  unpardonable  weakness.  He  had  heard 
much  of  the  softening  influence  of  kindness,  but  did  not 
believe  in  it :  vigorous  measures  were  his  Alpha  and  Omega, 
and  fear  the  only  principle  he  would  appeal  to.  His  favor- 
ite phrase,  "  rule  them  with  a  rod  of  iron,"  was  the  key  to 
his  character,  and  presented  a  condensed  summary  of  his 
opinions  on  the  important  subject  of  prison  management. 

This  keeper  seemed  to  have  an  especial  antipathy  to 
Grey's  friend,  Frank  Hill,  and  took  advantage  of  every 
opportunity  to  annoy  him.  The  slightest  infraction  of  the 
rules  which,  in  a  favorite,  he  would  have  passed  over,  or 
pretended  not  to  observe,  was  in  his  case  visited  with  con- 
dign punishment.  Inadvertence  or  ignorance  was  no  ex- 
cuse, and  the  mere  fact  of  speaking  in  self-defense  was  an 
aggravation  of  the  original  crime.  In  short,  he  was  one 
of  those  petty  tyrants,  whose  pranks  before  high  Heaven 
make  even  angels  weep.  The  prisoners  he  looked  upon  as 
beings  of  another  nature,  made  probably  by  some  inferior 
Deity,  or  Journeyman  Creator,  and  fit  only  to  be  knocked 
down  like  ten-pins  for  his  amusement.  As  a  means  of  dis- 
pelling ennui  they  were  invaluable,  and  for  spleen  they  were 


ERNEST  GREY.  233 

the  "  sovereignest  thing  on  earth  ;"  but  as  feliow-c»eatures 
coi.iuiitted  to  his  care,  for  whom  he  was  responsible,  as 
human  beings  who  might  be  brutalized,  or  improved  by  his 
example,  as  men  before  whom,  as  before  himself,  lay  the 
fearful  doom,  or  glorious  prospect  of  immortality,  or  as 
Christians  redeemed  by  the  blood  of  the  same  Saviour,  they 
were  never  thought  of. 

Ernest  Grey  and  Frank  Hill  were  placed  in  the  same 
workshop,  and  had  frequent  opportunities  of  conversing 
during  the  absence  of  the  keeper.  In  one  of  these  conver- 
sations, Ernest  learned  that  his  young  companion  was  con- 
victed on  a  charge  of  passing  counterfeit  bills. 

"  Did  you  know  them  to  be  counterfeits  ?"  inquired 
Ernest. 

"  No  ;  I  received  them  from  a  stranger,  in  exchange  for 
a  larger  bill,  and  as  I  could  give  no  clue  to  the  person  from 
whom  I  got  them,  and  as  I  had  more  in  my  possession,  I 
was  found  guilty  and  sent  up  here.  From  the  first  moment 
I  entered,  Keeper  Smith  took  a  dislike  to  me,  and  I  to  him. 
The  second  day,  he  ordered  me  to  go  to  work  ;  but  I  re- 
fused, for  I  was  so  sick  that  I  could  not  stand,  and  for  that 
I  was  showered." 

"  So,  I  caught  you  I"  exclaimed  the  keeper,  entering  with 
a  cat-like  tread — "  talking  again.  Your  tongue's  too  loose, 
I  erness.  We'll  fix  it  for  you — we'll  shower  you.  Come  I 
strip,  strip,  I  say." 


234     CRUEL  TREATMENT  OF  FRANK  HILL. 

"  He'll  kill  me,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  turning  to  Ernest 
with  a  despairing  look. 

"  D — n  you  !"  said  Smith,  striking  him  in  the  face  with 
his  clenched  fist — "  you're  not  worth  killing.  Come  along. 
You  won't — eh  ?  We'll  see  who's  going  to  have  the  upper 
hand  here." 

With  one  blow  he  felled  him  to  the  ground,  and  then 
beat  him  unmercifully  with  a  club,  repeating  at  every 
stroke — "we'll  see  who's  going  to  have  the  upper  hand 
here." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  kill  him  1"  exclaimed  Grey, 
catching  Smith's  hand  to  arrest  the  blow.  "  He  has  done 
nothing  wrong." 

"  Hasn't  he,  indeed,"  said  the  keeper,  turning  ferociously 
on  Ernest,  and  pouring  on  him  a  volley  of  abuse  mingled 
with  oaths.  "  Who  are  you  that  knows  so  well  ?  Take 
that  I  and  that !  and  that  1  for  your  interference" — at  each 
repetition  dealing  Grey  a  heavy  blow.  "  I'll  teach  you  to 
interfere  again.  To  the  bath  with  you,  too." 

Grey  put  down  his  work,  and  stood  ready  to«  accompany 
the  Keeper,  who  was  always  present  at  the  showerings. 

"  Haven't  you  a  word  to  say  for  yourself  ?"  said  Smith, 
tauntingly,  "  or  is  it  only  for  other  folks  you  do  the  talk- 
ing—eh ?" 

"  I  have  a  few  words  to  say,  but  they  are  not  my  own," 
said  Grey,  emphatically. 


ERNEST  GREY.  235 

"Got  somebody  to  talk  for  you?"  said  he,  laughing 
boisterously.  "  Well.  Ha  !  What  are  you  doing  ?  Quiet, 
I  say." 

This  was  addressed  to  Hill,  who  attempted  to  rise. 
Flinging  him  back  again,  he  planted  one  foot  heavily  upon 
his  chest,  and  told  Grey  to  "  out  with  it." 

"  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  have  them  do  unto  you." 

The  convicts,  between  forty  and  fifty  in  number,  started 
and  glanced  hastily  at  Smith,  to  note  the  effect  of  that 
divine  axiom,  which  contains  the  essence  of  practical  Chris- 
tianity, thus  boldly  and  solemnly  uttered  by  one  of  them- 
selves. 

Smith  grew  livid  with  rage,  and  springing  on  Grey,  beat 
him  about  the  head  and  shoulders  with  his  club  until  he  was 
tired  ;  then  calling  the  under-keepers,  he  had  both  of  them 
dragged  by  the  legs,  across  the  stone  floor,  to  the  bath. 
The  shower-bath  was  his  favorite  mode  of  punishment,  and 
the  depraved  ingenuity  of  man  has  seldom  hit  upon  a  more 
fiendish  torture.  Any  one  who  can  remember  the  effect 
produced  on  himself  by  the  inadvertent  sprinkling  of  a  few 
drops  of  cold  water,  the  feeling  of  strangulation  that  made 
him  gasp  for  breath,  will  understand  the  extreme  severity 
of  thts  punishment,  particularly  when  the  victim  cannot 
change  his  position,  but  stands  with  head  thrown  back  to 
receive  the  full  force  of  the  shock. 

Smith  stood  by  to  see  that  all  was  correct,  and  to  give 


236  THE   SHOWER   BATH. 

directions  as  to  the  amount  of  water  to  be  used,  and  the 
manner  hi  which  it  was  to  be  precipitated. 

"  Let  them  have  five  barrels,"  he  exclaimed,  vindictively. 
"  Not  a  quart  less,  and  stay — plenty  of  ice — no  stint,  my 
men — plenty — do  you  hear  ?" 

The  order  was  cheerfully  obeyed,  for  the  under-keepers 
were  men  of  his  own  stamp.  Lumps  of  ice  were  liberally 
distributed,  and  the  immense  mass  of  water  was  poured 
in  a  continuous  flood — an  overwhelming  deluge  on  the  up- 
turned faces  of"  the  shrinking  victims.  The  drowning 
wretch  flung  amid  foaming  breakers,  could  comprehend 
what  they  suffered,  and  he  alone.  Stunned,  insensible, 
dead  to  all  consciousness,  save  that  of  pain,  they  writhed 
convulsively,  unable  to  avoid  or  deaden  the  shock,  while 
the  blood  flowed  from  the  bruises  on  their  faces  and  necks, 
produced  by  the  acute  angles  of  the  jagged  ice.  In  this 
condition  they  were  again  beset  by  Smith  and  his  under- 
lings, and  badly  beaten,  then  locked  up  in  their  cells  with- 
out being  permitted  to  change  their  wet  clothes,  and  left 
there  for  two  days,  without  food  or  medical  attendance. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE    DRUNKEN    OFFICIAL THE    CAT-o'-NINE    TAILS NO. 

475 SHOOTING   A    PRISONER THE    YOKE. 

"  BRAVO  !"  said  one  of  the  convicts,  exultingly,  shutting  the 
door,  however,  carefully  before  he  spoke.     "  Bravo  !  we 
can  do  as  we  like  to-day  :  Smith's  drunk  !  ain't  that  good 
news  ?" 
-  "  First-rate,"  was  the  universal  reply.     "  Is  he  coming  ?'' 

"  Yes  ;  but  he'll  soon  fall  asleep.  He's  primed,  I  tell 
you.  Hush  !  here  he  is." 

An  uncertain  step  approached  the  door,  then  a  hand 
fumbled  with  the  lock,  and  after  a  considerable  time  thus 
spent,  Smith  entered,  with  a  ludicrous  assumption  of  digni- 
fied sobriety.  He  perambulated  the  room  in  a  zigzag 
manner,  exhibiting  a  dexterity  in  balancing  himself  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  rope  dancer,  and  after  examin- 
ing the  work  with  all  the  importance  of  a  drunken  man,  he 
sat  down  in  his  easy  chair,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

"  Well,  Frank,"  said  Ernest,  in  a  whisper,  "  how  do  you 
feel  ?" 


238  THE   CAT-O'-NINE   TAILS. 

"Bad,  bad.  These  strong  measures  will  soon  set  me 
free,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  despondent  bitterness,  sad  in 
one  so  young.  "  Another  showering  will  kill  me." 

"  How  would  you  have  liked  the  cat  ?"  inquired  one  of 
the  prisoners  who  overheard  him.  "I  have  seen  a  man 
flogged  with  it  until  his  flesh  flew  off  like  husks  of  corn 
when  threshed.  Yes,  sir,"  he  added,  emphatically,  observ- 
ing their  incredulity  ;  "I  saw  it  myself,  and  in  this  very 
prison,  too  ;  and  what  did  they  do  then,  do  you  think  ? — 
they  soaked  him  in  brine." 

"  By  the  !  you're  going  it  too  strong,  Seventy," 

exclaimed  another  ;  "  but  yon  can't  come  that  over  me, 
no  how  ;  I  ain't  so  green  as  to  swallow  that." 

"  Not  green,"  retorted  the  first  speaker  ;  "  when  were 
you  up  first  ?" 

"  Six  years  ago,  and  better." 

"  Pah  1"  •  was  the  contemptuous  reply  ;  "  what  do  you 
know  about  prisons  ?  You're  as  green  as  a  leek.  It  hap- 
pened in  this  prison,  I  tell  you,  ten  tears  ago,  before  show- 
ering came  in.  He  had  a  bath  of  his  own  blood,  and  he 
jumped  and  splashed  about  in  it  like  a  madman,  hollering 
all  the  time.  I  was  spattered  all  over  with  blood  and 
lumps  of  flesh,  and  I  got  a  few  licks  of  the  rope  myself, 
because  I  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears  that  I  mightn't  hear 
his  horrible  cries.  It  was  awful.  They  kept  at  him — 
that  man  there,"  pointing  to  the  sleeper,  "cursing  them 


ERNEST  OBEY.  239 

when  they  lagged  for  a  minute — aye,  for  more  than  an 
hour — taking  turns,  two  at  a  time  each  side  of  him.  For 
two  days  running  they  tortured  him  ;  but  at  last,  poor 
fellow,  he  slipt  through  their  hands  and  died." 

"  What  was  he  flogged  for  ?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Because  he  disturbed  their  sleep  by  singing  through  the 
night — he  was  crazy." 

"  What  keeps  us  from  killing  him  ?"  exclaimed  one, 
fiercely.  "  The  murderer  !  he  ought  to  be  strangled.  I'd 
kill  him  with  as  little  compunction  as  I  would  a  rat,"  And 
he  advanced,  as  if  to  put  his  threat  into  execution. 

"  Would  you  make  yourself  as  bad  as  him  ?"  said  Ernest 
Grey,  holding  him  back  with  a  firm  grasp — "  put  yourself 
below  his  level  ?  If  not,  don't  murder  a  sleeping  man." 

"  A  man  !"  repeated  the  other,  indignantly — "  do  you 
call  him  a  man  ?  He's  not  human  ;  he's  a  wretch  !  a 
fiend  !  a  devil !  It  would  be  a  good  deed  to  kill  him." 

"  But  he's  not  fit  to  die,"  said  Frank 

"  Is  he  fit  to  live  ?" 

"Let  Him  decide  who  can  give  life,"  replied  Ernest. 
"With  that  we  have  nothing  to  do.  Let  him  live  his 
hour  ;  he  will  be  summoned  when  wanted." 

Muttering  his  dissatisfaction,  the  man  went  to  his  seat, 
but  could  not  forbear  stopping,  as  he  passed  the  sleeping 
tyrant,  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings.  Uttering  sundry  fear- 

•j 

fal  imprecations,  he  shook  his  clenched  fist  in  his  face,  and 


240  NO.  475. 

swore  he  should  not  escape,  that  he  would  revenge  himself 
and  others  before  he  left  the  prison.  Smith,  who  was  not 
as  drunk  as  usual,  was  roused  by  the  loud,  threatening 
tones  so  close  to  him,  and  starting  up,  caught  No.  475  by 
the  collar. 

"  You  skulking  scoundrel  I"  he  said,  shaking  him  roughly  ; 
"  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  Why  ain't  you  at  work  ?  I'll 
teach  yon  to  be  idling  when  my  back's  turned." 

He  left  the  room,  but  returned  almost  immediately,  ac- 
companied by  another  keeper,  bearing  between  them  an  iron 
yoke  weighing  about  fifty  pounds.  No.  475  knew  at  once 
for  whom  it  was  intended,  and  determined  to  resist.  The 
two  keepers  seized  him,  but  he  was  a  strong,  powerful  man, 
and  flinging  them  from  him  with  a  vigorous  effort,  he  placed 
himself  firmly  against  the  wall,  and  awaited  another  attack. 
Again  they  tried  to  capture  him,  and  again  they  were  re- 
pulsed ;  the  man  appeared  to  be  endowed  with  the  strength 
of  a  giant — all  his  evil  passions  were  aroused  ;  he  cursed 
and  blasphemed,  and  swore  by  everything  sacred  that  he 
would  not  be  taken  alive,  that  he  would  rather  die  than 
submit  to  be  punished  without  a  cause.  The  two  keepers 

seeing  their  authority  thus  daringly  contemned,  and  them- 

• 
selves  openly  bearded  by  one  of  their  slaves,  and  that,  too, 

in  presence  of  the  rest,  were  infuriated  beyond  all  bounds. 
Smith  seized  his  club,  which  lay  on  the  floor  beside  him, 
and  struck  right  and  left,  caring  not  whom  he  injured. 


ERNEST   GREY.  241 

Still  they  could  not  succeed,  for  the  prisoner  had  got  hold 
of  a  chair,  and  with  it  kept  them  at  bay,  whirling  it  from 
side  to  side  incessantly,  and  describing  a  wide  semi-circle  at 
every  sweep. 

"  Call  in  the  guards  !"  roared  Smith,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
fury,  "  and  shoot  him  down.  Do  you  give  in  ?"  he  said, 
addressing  the  mutinous  convict. 

"  Xever  ! — die  first,"  shouted  the  man,  now  as  excited  as 
his  tormentor. 

"Won't  you,  indeed  !"  said  the  other  keeper.  "We'll 
try  that,  my  fine  fellow.  We'll  soon  see  who'll  tire  first," 
again  endeavoring  to  reach  him  with  the  club. 

By  this  time  the  guards  entered,  guns  in  hand,  and  rang- 
ing themselves  opposite  Xo.  475,  stood  ready,  waiting  the 
orders  to  fire. 

"  Pete,  make  him  drop  that  chair  ;  and  Bill,  you  shoot 
low,  and  talx  him  down}' 

The  guards  fired  at  random,  and  failed,  for  be  kept  con- 
stantly shifting  his  position.  Cursing  their  blundering  stu- 
pidity, Smith  ordered  them  to  fire  again,  and  make  sure 
work  of  it  this  time.  They  fired,  and  successfully,  and 
before  the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  No.  415  lay  like  a  log 
upon  the  floor,  his  arm  and  leg  shattered  by  the  discharge. 
In  a  moment  he  was  surrounded  and  bound,  though  his 
condition  rendered  the  precaution  as  unnecessary  as  it  was 
cruel,  and  hurried  to  his  cell  without  the  least  consideration 


242  SHOOTING   A    PEISONEE. 

for  his  sufferings.  Not  a  murmur,  not  a  sigh  escaped  him 
throughout ;  he  bore  all  with  a  stoical  fortitude  that  dis- 
dained complaint,  glaring  at  his  captors  with  looks  of  inex- 
tinguishable hatred. 

Some  of  the  prisoners  appeared  as  indifferent  to  what 
was  passing  as  stocks  or  stones  ;  but  there  was  ouc  among 
them  whose  agitation  was  pitiable  in  the  extreme.  Before 
his  imprisonment,  Frank  Hill  was  a  universal  favorite 
among  his  companions,  on  account  of  a  gentleness  of  dis- 
position which  would  rather  yield  ten  points  than  assert 
one.  But  now  this  amiable  weakness  degenerated  into 
morbid  terror,  for  his  nerves,  never  strong,  had  been  un- 
strung by  the  sufferings  he  had  endured,  and  the  scenes 
of  cruelty  he  had  witnessed  in  the  prison. 

During  the  incident  we  have  described,  his  emotions  were 
of  the  most  painful  nature,  and  when  the  unfortunate  con- 
temner  of  delegated  power  fell  a  victim  to  it,  they  had 
reached  a  pitch  that  defied  restraint. 

"  Control  yourself,"  whispered  Grey,  anxiously.  "  Smith 
is  observing  you." 

Shaking  with  fear,  Frank  resumed  his  work,  and  en- 
deavored to  conquer  his  emotion.  He  had  partially  suc- 
ceeded, when,  raising  his  eyes,  he  saw  Smith  close  by  his 
side,  watching  him  with  lynx-eyed  vigilance.  In  his  trepid- 
ation, the  heavy  tool  with  which  he  was  working  dropped 
from  his  nerveless  grasp,  and  fell  heavily  upon  the  keeper's 


ERNEST   GREY.  243 

foot.  Far  less  would  have  sufficed  to  arouse  him  in  his 
gentlest  mood  ;  but  now,  when  his  vindictive  feelings  were 
unnaturally  excited,  he  grasped  eagerly  at  the  first  chance. 
Hill  was  immediately  ordered  for  punishment — the  iron 
yoke  before  referred  to  was  put  upon  his  neck,  and  his 
arms  stretched  upon  it,  wide  apart.  Being  a  delicate 
youth,  he  would  have  sunk  under  the  weight ;  this  Smith 
knew,  and  to  avoid  it  a  rope  was  fastened  round  his  body, 
and  passed  over  a  beam.  This  held  him  up,  but  did  not 
diminish  the  crushing  weight  that  rested  on  his  shoulders, 
nor  abate  the  pain  caused  by  the  unnatural  extension  of  the 
arms.  In  this  painful  position  he  remained  for  hours  with- 
out respite,  save  what  was  gained  by  a  few  moments  uncon- 
sciousness. At  last  he  was  released,  but  the  inhuman 
punishment  had  been  so  disproportioned  to  his  strength, 
that  he  sunk  under  it,  and  the  keeper  was  reluctantly 
obliged  to  send  him  to  the  hospital.  He  was  well  aware 
that  his  treatment  of  one  whose  docility  was  known  to  all 
in  the  work-room,  had  outraged  the  feelings  of  the  most  hard- 
ened among  them,  and  this  made  him  still  more  watchful. 

If  his  surveillance  was  strict  before,  it  was  doubly  so 
now  :  he  seemed  to  have  the  hundred  eyes  of  Argus  ; 
nothing  could  escape  him,  not  even  a  look  was  suffered  to 
pass  unnoticed.  His  attention  was  especially  directed  to 
Ernest  Grey,  but  Ernest  was  on  his  guard,  and  though  his 
sympathy  for  the  sufferer  was  painfully  acute,  he  checked 


244  THE   YOKE. 

all  outward  manifestations  of  it,  lest  he  might  afford  the 
petty  despot  an  opportunity  of  displaying  his  illegal  cruelty 
on  him.  The  hour  for  stopping  work  arrived  at  length  ; 
the  convicts  sought  their  separate  cells,  and  with  a  feeling 
of  relief  and  thankfulness,  Ernest  heard  the  key  turn  in  the 
lock  of  his  door,  and  felt  that  he  was  alone. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE    COUSIN'S    STRATAGEM THE    ADOPTED    CHILD. THE 

SECRET. 

"  I  AM  tired  of  drawing,"  said  Emily,  throwing  down  her 
pencil,  "  for  I  find  all  my  exertions  will  never  make  me  an 
artist,  and  I  hate  respectable  mediocrity.  How  could 
Hogarth  be  so  stupid  as  to  say  that  'genius  is  nothing 
but  industry/'  Who  could  be  more  industrious  than  I  have 
been  ?  and  if  I  saw  any  prospect  of  ultimate  success,  I 
would  still  persevere,  but  to  plod  on  and  on,  and  make 
no  progress — it's  too  bad.  I'll  abjure  the  pencil  and  the 
palette  forever." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Agatha.  "  I  have  heard  you  say  so 
a  hundred  times  before,  and  you  are  invariably  more  ener- 
getic after  these  ebullitions." 

"We  shall  see.  However,  I  may  blame  you  for  my 
failure  to-day,  Agatha,  for  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  to 
the  exclusion  of  every  other  idea.  Will  you  answer  me  one 
question  truly  ?" 

"  Certainly  truly,  or  not  at  all." 


246  THE  COUSIN'S  STRATAGEM. 

"  What  have  you  done  to  Mr.  Hamilton  ?" 

"  I !"  exclaimed  Agatha,  in  astonishment.     "  Nothing." 

"  Well,  what  has  he  done  to  you  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  changed  in  your  manner  to  him  ? 
I  never  thought  you  were  capricious  before,  Agatha. 
There  surely  must  be  some  cause.  You  used  to  treat  him 
as  a  valued  friend,  but  now  when  he  enters  the  room,  you 
leave  it  on  any,  or  no  pretence.  Have  you  heard  anything 
that  lessens  him  in  your  estimation  ?" 

"  Set  your  mind  at  ease,  Emily  ;  I  have  heard  nothing 
of  the  kind.  You  can  cherish  your  admiration  of  Mr. 
Hamilton  without  scruple,  for  he  is  as  deserving  of  it  now 
as  he  ever  was." 

Emily's  eyes  were  twinkling  with  merry  mischief  as  she 
glanced  at  her  cousin,  and  a  provoking  reply  hovered  on 
her  tongue  ;  but  suddenly  a  new  idea  struck  her,  and  she 
paused  abruptly.  Collecting  her  drawing  materials,  she 
arranged  them  in  their  appropriate  place,  put  her  unfinished 
sketch  in  her  portfolio,  and  took  a  seat  beside  her  cousin. 

"Agatha,"  she  said,  with  unusual  seriousness,  "I  am 
really  glad  to  hear  that  the  high  opinion  you  always  enter- 
tained of  Mr.  Hamilton  is  unchanged — glad  of  it  on  account 
of  a  friend  who  takes  a  deep  interest  in  him." 

Agatha  started,  and  changed  color.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Emily  ?"  she  inquired,  quickly. 


ERNEST   GREY.  247 

"  I  mean  that  a  dear  friend  of  iniue  has  a  high,  if  not  an 
exaggerated  opinion  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  merits,  and  I  am 
sincerely  glad,  for  her  sake,  that  he  is  deserving  of  it." 

"  Does  she  love  Mr.  Hamilton,  Emily  ?* 

"  Love  him,  did  you  say  ?  Well,  Agatha,  that's  the  very 
thing  I  want  to  make  out.  I  think  she  does,  but  as  to  his 
feelings  I  have  no  doubt  whatever." 

"Then  you  think — "  Agatha  paused,  afraid  to  trust 
herself  to  speak,  for  her  voice  faltered,  despite  every  effort. 
But  her's  was  not  a  mind  to  expose  her  feelings,  or  give 
way  to  emotion,  without  a  struggle. 

"The  perfume  of  flowers  in  a  heated  apartment  always 
overpowers  me,''  she  observed,  removing  a  vase,  filled  with 
exquisite  exotics,  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  room.  "  Now 
they  are  in  the  very  niche  they  were  designed  to  fill,  and 
that  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  many  human  beings." 

Resuming  her  seat  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  unpleasant  had 
transpired,  she  voluntarily  returned  to  the  subject. 

"  You  think  Mr.  Hamilton  loves  the  young  lady  you 
spoke  of,  Emily  ?"  she  said,  in  an  indifferent  tone. 

"  Yes,  but  you  will  not  put  much  faith  in  my  penetra- 
tion, Agutha,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  often  thought  of 
late  he  was  in  love  with  you.  Nay,  if  you  look  so  morti- 
fied, I  retract  that  at  once." 

"Mortified,"  thought  Agatha,  "to  be  the  object  of  his 
love  !  Oh,  no  ;  but  the  object  of  his  pity,  never,  never." 


248  THE  COUSIN'S  STRATAGEM. 

"  Xow,  I  wouldn't  be  mortified  if  all  the  people  in  Xew 
York  thought  Mr.  Hamilton  was  infatuated  about  me," 
said  Emily  ;  "  and  why  are  you  so  fastidious  ?  I  hope  yon 
don't  consider  Mr.  Hamilton  too  old  to  be  an  admirer  of 
yours,  and  he  not  thirty-five.  '  You  won't  see  many  like 
him  at  a  horse-race  in  the  country,'  Agatha  ;  I  can  promise 
you  that." 

"  You  are  addressing  the  wrong  person  in  Mr.  Hamilton's 
behalf,  Emily — are  you  not  ?" 

"  True,  true  ;  but  you  are  so  like  her,  Agatha,  that  [ 
quite  forgot." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  Do  I  know  her  ?"  inquired  Agatha, 
eagerly. 

"  As  to  knowing  her  I  can't  exactly  say,  for  I  question 
does  she  know  herself ;  but  I  can  show  you  her  likeness. 
Wait  for  a  moment ;  I  have  got  it  in  my  room." 

As  soon  as  the  restraint  her  cousin's  presence  imposed 
on  her  was  removed,  Agatha  Clements  gave  way  to  her 
over-wrought  feelings,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
as  if  to  close  out  the  light  of  day,  wept  long  and  quietly. 
A  slight  noise  made  her  spring  from  her  seat,  and  the  first 
object  that  met  her  view  was  Mr.  Hamilton  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  the  very  picture  of  surprise  and  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Miss  Clements,  you  are  ill !"  he  exclaimed,  anxiously, 
attempting  to  detain  her  as  he  spoke. 


ERNEST  GREY.  249 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  quite  well,"  said  Agatha,  passing  him 
rapidly,  in  order  to  gain  the  shelter  of  her  own  room. 
Once  in  it,  she  felt  secure  from  intrusion,  for  she  knew  no 
one  would  seek  her  there  but  Emily.  However,  feeling 
unequal  to  the  task  of  meeting  even  her  while  her  mind  was 
in  a  tumult,  she  locked  the  door  and  sat  down,  not  to  give 
vent  to  her  feelings,  but  to  take  herself  to  task  for  having 
indulged  them.  Her  meditations  were  soon  broken  by 
Emily,  who  came  running  up  in  a  great  hurry,  to  say  that 
Mr.  Clements  wanted  her  immediately. 

"  I  verily  believe  you  have  locked  yourself  in,"  she 
said,  shaking  the  door  briskly.  "  By-the-bye,  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton is  below  with  your  father.  Shall  I  wait  for  you, 
Agatha  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  shall  be  down  presently." 

"  I  have  got  the  miniature.  Have  you  no  curiosity  to 
see  it  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Agatha,  would  you  like  to  see  the  miniature  ?"  she 
inquired,  in  a  louder  key. 

"  To-night,  Emily  :  not  now — I  have  not  time." 

"  Very  well ;  as  you  will,"  said  Emily,  hurrying  down 
stairs  as  quickly  as  she  came  up.  Agatha  bathed  her  eyes 
to  remove  all  traces  of  tears,  and  when  she  succeeded  to  her 
own  satisfaction,  joined  the  party  below. 

"T  was  telling  your  mother  thnt   T   intend  bringing  a 


250  THE    ADOPTED    CHILD. 

stranger  here  to  be  domesticated  among  us,  and  that  I 
wish  he  should  feel  himself  thoroughly  at  home." 

"  Very  well,  father  ;  we  shall  endeavor  to  make  him 
feel  so." 

"  It  is  a  child  I  have  adopted." 

"  A  child  !"  screamed  Mrs.  Clements,  horrified.  "  Mercy 
on  me  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  Why,  Mr.  Clements,  it's  not 
possible  you  have  been  so  inconsiderate  !  A  child  !  Good 
gracious  !  was  there  ever  anything  so  horrible.  Oh,  my 
poor  head  !  But  you  do  not  mean  it,  Mr.  Clements — of 
course,  it's  only  a  jest.  How  silly  of  me  to  be  alarmed." 

"I  am  not  much  in  the  habit  of  perpetrating  jests, 
Maria,  nor  do  I  feel  in  a  jocular  mood  at  the  present  mo- 
ment," replied  Mr.  Clements,  gravely.  "I  really  mean 
what  I  say.  The  child  is  bright  and  intelligent,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  like  it ;  and  I  intend  that  whatever  natural 
talents  it  may  possess,  shall  be  fully  developed.  Hamilton 
has  seen  the  child." 

"  A  very  fine,  interesting  boy  he  is,"  observed  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

"  A  boy  !"  exclaimed  the  indignant  lady.  "  Oh  !  really 
it  is  too  bad — the  patience  of  a  saint  would  give  way  under 
such  an  infliction, — racing  about  and  whooping  like  a  wild 
Indian — and  I  in  such  miserable  health.  I  shall  have  a 
nervous  fever — I  know  I  shall,  for  I  never  could  endure 
excitement — my  system  is  too  much  shattered." 


ERNEST   GREY.  251 

"  Dear  aunt !"  said  Emily,  iii  her  most  insinuating  man- 
ner, "  Mrs.  Wilson  has  two  or  three  boys, — rude  boys,  too, 
— constantly  in  the  house,  and  it  does  not  injure  her  con- 
stitution." 

"What  analogy  is  there  between  Mrs.  Wilson's  case 
and  mine,  Emily  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Clements,  highy  offended 
at  the  comparison.  "  Compared  with  mine,  her  health  is 
actually  robust." 

"  But  she  is  affected  as  you  are." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Mrs.  Clements,  decisively.  "  Very 
far  from  it.  Affected  like  me  !  Why,  her  disease  is  nerv- 
ousness in  its  simplest  form  ;  what  any  medical  practitioner 
of  a  few  months'  standing  conld  comprehend,  and  mine  is 
so  complicated  that  it  would " 

"  Puzzle  Hippocrates,"  suggested  Mr.  Clements,  observ- 
ing that  she  was  at  a  loss  for  a  strong  expression. 

"  Exactly  so.  Mrs.  Wilson,  indeed  !  Really,  Emily,  I 
am  surprised.  I  know  Mrs.  Wilson  is  delicate,  and  I  would 
be  sorry  to  say  otherwise — indeed,  I  would  be  the  very  last 
person  to  deny  it,  but  I  must  say  that  she  could  better  bear 
the  noise  of  ten  boys  than  I  could  that  of  one." 

"  If  the  boy  annoys  you,  he  shall  be  sent  to  school,"  said 
Mr.  Clements. 

"  School,"  she  repeated,  impatiently — "  schools  have  va- 
cations, and  then  he  will  return  twice  as  wild,  on  account 
of  having  been  restrained." 


252  THE   ADOPTED    CHILD. 

"  Well,  if  you  prefer  it,  we  will  keep  him  home,  and  have 
him  instructed  here.  You  can  arrange  that  to  your  own 
satisfaction." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Clements  ;  you  can  have  your  own  way, 
of  course,  as  usual.  Do  as  you  please  with  the  boy  :  he 
may  be  noisy,  or  turbulent — indeed,  I  expect  no  less — boys 
are  naturally  so,  the  very  best  of  them  ;  still — "  Mrs. 
Clements  paused,  but  the  expression  of  placid  fortitude  her 
features  wore,  filled  up  the  hiatus  satisfactorily.  On  the 
whole,  the  prospect  of  a  standing  grievance  was  not  un- 
pleasant. 

"What's  the  child's  name,  father?"  inquired  Agatha. 
"  You  have  not  mentioned  it." 

"  Have  I  not  ?     Stephen  Grey." 

"  The  name  is  pretty  enough,"  said  Emily  ;  "  but  what  is 
the  child  like  ?  Describe  him,  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  begin 
with  his  eyes — what  color  ?" 

"  Dark  grey,  and  wonderfully  expressive — the  very  shade 
of  Miss  Clements'." 

"  Ton  my  honor  !  I  believe  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Clements, 
surprised  ;  "  though  I  did  not  observe  them  closely  at  the 
time.  Look  this  way,  Agatha  :  you  are  quite  right,  Ham- 
ilton. I  did  not  think  you  were  so  observing — at  least,  I 
did  not  think  you  took  notice  of  such  trifles." 

"  The  bard  that  wore  the  black  gown  advises  us  to  give 
our  time  to  trifles,"  -said  Emily  :  "  and  I  am  glad  to  see 


ERNEST   GREY.*  253 

that  Mr.  Hamilton  profits  by  such  an  eminent  example,  for 
he  says,  very  truly,  that  trifles  make  up  life." 

"  Mr.  Clements,"  said  his  wife,  hurriedly,  as  if  the  idea 
had  just  then  struck  her,  "  has  the  child  you  spoke  of  any 
relatives  living  ?  What  class  of  persons  are  they  ?" 

"They  are  very  poor.  The  father  was  in  my  employ- 
ment ;  the  mother  is  dead.  You  need  not  fear  being 
annoyed  with  people  coming  to  see  the  child — there  is  no 
danger  of  that." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Mrs.  Clements  ;  "  but  I  am  not  too 
sanguine  on  that  point,  for  I  have  always  observed  that 
poor  people  are  never  satisfied  with  hearing  of  their  chil- 
dren's welfare — they  want  to  see  them,  as  if  that  could 
benefit  either." 

"  They  are  not  utilitarians,"  said  Mr.  Clements :  "  that 
accounts  for  it." 

"  When  will  this  child  arrive  ?"  she  inquired,  as  if  she 
did  not  care  how  soon  the  sacrificial  rites  commenced,  but 
was  rather  willing  to  be  a  victim. 

"  I  shall  bring  him  here  in  half  an  hour.  Hamilton, 
don't  stir  until  I  come  back.  The  books  you  want  are  in 
my  Library." 

As  her  father  left  the  room,  Agatha  followed  out,  under 
pretence  of  having  forgotten  something  she  wished  to  say, 
and  returned  no  more.  Emily  saw  through  the  pretence 
at  once,  and  felt  annoyed  on  Mr.  Hamilton's  account,  for 


254  *    THE   SECRET. 

he  appeared  chagrined  and  mortified  at  her  determined 
avoidance  of  him.  In  order  to  provide  herself  with  a 
subject  for  conversation,  she  resumed  her  drawing,  and 
requested  him  to  examine  and  criticize  it  for  her. 

"  I  am  but  a  tyro,  Miss  North,"  he  replied  ;  "  and  I 
could  not  presume  to  exercise  the  functions  of  a  critic." 

"  Nonsense  !  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  you  can  '  talk  of  Raphaels, 
Corregios  and  stuff,'  as  well  as  any  one  ;  and  what  more  is 
necessary  to  constitute  a  critic  ?'' 

"  Love  of  it,  and  that  essential  I  do  not  possess,  for 
Sterne  never  hated  the  cant  of  criticism  more  than  I  do. 
I  am  satisfied  to  admire,  and  this"-— taking  a  landscape 
from  the  portfolio — "  is  really  beautiful.  These  piled-up, 
cumulous  clouds,  tinged  with  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
and  these  masses  of  wavy,  autumnal  foliage,  through  which 
the  breeze  seems  to  be  passing,  defy  my  criticism.  I  had 
no  idea  you  were  such  a  proficient  in  'the  art  that  can 
immortalize.' " 

"I  suppose  not,  Mr.  Hamilton.  I  am  one  of  those 
unfortunate  individuals  whose  merits  are  never  recognized 
until  too  late.  The  world  will  never  do  me  justice,  I  fear  : 
there  must  be  some  fatality  about  me,  else  why  should  you, 
having  that  well-filled  portfolio  before  you,  select  the  very 
one,  the  only  one  in  it  I  did  not  paiiit  ?  That's  Agatha's, 
and  I  won't  have  it  there  any  longer  shaming  my  humble 
efforts.  Will  you  take  it  out  of  my  sight,  Mr.  Hamilton  ?" 


ERNEST   GREY.  255 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  give  it  to  me,  Miss  North  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,  if  you  will  accept  it." 

"  If  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  then  checking  himself, 
he  added,  quietly — "  what  would  Miss  Clements  say  ?" 

"  She  will  know  nothing  of  it ;  it  will  be  a  secret  between 
you  and  me." 

"Is  it  the  only  secret  of  mine  in  your  keeping,  Miss 
North  ?"  he  asked,  significantly. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  you  ever  intrusted  me  with  one," 
she  replied. 

"  Would  that  I  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so  now," 
said  Mr.  Hamilton,  earnestly. 

"  Well,  what  prevents  you  taking  advantage  of  the 
present  moment?"  replied  Emily,  anxious  to  know  if  she 
was  right  in  her  conjecture  as  to  the  state  of  his  mind. 
"  You  may  speak  here  without  fear  of  being  overheard,  for 
my  aunt  is  so  absorbed  in  her  book  that,  if  you  had  the 
lungs  of  a  stentor,  you  could  not  distract  her  attention. 
She  is  deep  in  the  woes  of  some  Rosalie,  or  Adeline." 

Lowering  his  voice,  to  prevent  all  possibility  of  being 
overheard,  Mr.  Hamilton  confided  to  his  highly-gratified 
listener  the  story  of  his  love  for  Agatha,  passing  over  the 
scene  in  the  ball-room,  but  dwelling  long  upon  her  studied 
avoidance  of  him. 

"  And  now,  Miss  North,"  he  said,  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  confession,  "  will  you  make  an  opportunity  for  me  to  see 


256  THE   SECRET. 

your  cousin  in  private — unless  you  assist  me  I  can  never 
succeed." 

"  I  will  tell  her  you  wish  for  a  private  interview,  and,  of 
course,  she  will  grant  it." 

"  It  would  be  useless  ;  she  would  refuse,"  said  Mr. 
Hamilton.  "  If  I  cannot  see  her  without  a  formal  request, 
I  may  abandon  the  idea  altogether.  I  did  think,  Miss 
North,  I  might  count  on  your  friendship." 

"  And  so  you  may,  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  but  Agatha  is  not  a 
Lydia  Languish,  whom  it  is  necessary  to  approach  by  a 
circuitous  route.  However,  I  presume  you  have  only  con- 
fided in  me  partially — -just  what  was  indispensible  towards 
procuring  my  co-operation." 

"  Nay,  I  have  concealed  nothing  that  related  to  myself 
alone,"  replied  Mr.  Hamilton,  with  a  sincerity  that  enforced 
credence.  "  I  do  not  believe  in  half-confidence — unreserved 
trust,  or  none  at  all." 

"  Where  is  the  second  volume  of  this  book,  Emily  ?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Clements,  laying  the  one  she  had  just  finished 
on  the  table.  Will  you  get  it  for  me  ?" 

"  This  looks  like  it,"  said  Emily,  passing  it  to  her.  "  Are 
you  going,  Mr.  Hamilton,  before  my  uncle  returns  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  not  see  him  yet,  and  as  he  is  more  than 
half  an  hour  away,  he  will  not  be  surprised  at  my  absence. 
Remember,  I  trust  to  you,  Miss  North,  implicitly,  both  as 
to  the  how  and  the  when.  Excuse  me  if  I  ask  one  imperti- 


ERNEST  GREY.  257 

nent  question — why  was  Miss  Clements  weeping  when  I 
came  in  ?  I  hope  she  is  not  ill." 

"  Weeping  !  Are  you  certain  she  was  weeping  ?"  said 
Emily,  unable  to  suppress  a  transient  smile.  "  Ah,  yes,  I 
remember  now,  perfectly.  Believe  me,  you  have  no  cause 
for  alarm  ;  she  is  quite  well.  Hold  yourself  in  readiness 
for  a  summons  at  any  moment." 

"  So  she  was  weeping,"  soliloquized  Emily,  when  the  door 
closed  on  Mr.  Hamilton.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it : 
now  I  know  my  ground,  Miss  Agatha." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

AN    EVENING    AT    LIZZY    ROBERTS' THE    BRIGHT    FIRE    AND 

ITS    REWARD POVERTY    AS     A     MORAL    AGENT GOING 

TO    BE    MARRIED. 

RICHARD  KANE,  though  fully  determined  to  see  his  unfortu- 
nate friend  the  following  morning,  was  obliged,  by  unfore- 
seen circumstances,  to.  defer  his  visit  to  the  prison  for  two 
successive  days.  He  had  been  sent  by  his  employer  some 
miles  away,  to  finish  a  job,  and  although  he  had  no  idea 
prey's  trial  was  at  hand,  he  started  with  evident  reluctance. 
As  soon  as  he  returned  he  hastened  to  the  prison,  and 
learned  all  that  had  occurred  during  his  absence — the  trial, 
the  sentence,  and  the  subsequent  removal  to  Sing  Sing. 
The  only  course  that  now  remained  open  to  him  was  to 
write  to  Ernest,  to  tell  him  all  he  had  suffered,  and  entreat 
his  forgiveness.  This  he  did  at  once,  and  with  a  mind 
lightened  of  half  his  burden,  set  out  for  Short's  alley,  where 
he  found  Lizzy  and  Margaret  at  their  usual  occupation,  and 
was  warmly  welcomed  by  both. 

He  was  so  pleased  with  his  new  acquaintances  that  ho 


ERNEST   GREY.  259 

called  again  and  again,  and  at  last  his  visits  became  so 
frequent,  that  they  were  regarded  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Every  evening  he  was  looked  for,  as  if  he  were  a  member 
of  the  family,  and  when  anything  occurred  to  prevent  his 
daily  visit,  it  was  a  source  of  regret  to  more  than  him. 

"  We  had  better  get  our  tea,  Liz  ;  Richard  will  not 
be  here  to-night,"  said  Margaret,  proceeding  to  arrange 
the  simple  board.  "  Don't  you  think  two  cups  look 
lonely  ?" 

"Yes;  it  looks  as  if  we  didn't  expect  him,,  and  that 
makes  the  place  appear  dull.  But  wait  a  little,  Margaret, 
he  may  come  yet." 

"  I  think  I  hear  his  evening  step  upon  the  stairs,"  said 
Margaret,  as  the  sound  of  an  ascending  footstep  became 
audible  within  the  room.  "  Yes,  here  he  comes." 

"  Yes,  here  I  come.  How  comfortable  you  look,"  said 
Richard,  drawing  his  chair  to  the  fire,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  before  it,  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  heat.  "  I  always  think 
the  fire  burns  brighter  and  pleasanter  here  than  anywhere 
else,  though  the  stove  is  cracked.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  ; 
I  suppose  you  have  got  the  knack  of  it:" 

"  The  talent  for  it,  you  mean.  Do  you  know  the  glorious 
reward  reserved  for  women  possessing  that  talent  you  speak 
so  lightly  of,  Mr.  Kane  ?" 

"  Xo,  Miss  Linwood,"  replied  Richard,  ceremoniously  ; 
"  but  I  am  anxious  to  be  informed." 


260  THE   BRIGHT   FIRE    AND   ITS   REWARD. 

"  Any  woman  that  can  make  a  clear  fire  will  be  sure  to 
get  a  good-tempered  husband." 

"  Isn't  that  good  pay  ?"  said  Lizzy,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Richard,  doubtingly  ;  "  that  de- 
pends upon  circumstances.  Prompt  pay  is  good  pay,  but 
Margaret  didn't  specify  anything  about  time.  When  is  she 
to  get  it,  Margaret  ?'' 

"  As  soon  as  she  can,"  replied  Margaret,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  ho  !"  said  Richard,  "  that's  another  view  of  the 
question  ;  that  changes  it  altogether.  At  first  the  promise 
was  positive,  and  now  you  make  it  conditional,  upon  some- 
thing that  wasn't  heard  of  before.  That's  not  fair,  Mar- 
garet. Didn't  you  say  that  she  that  made  a  good  fire 
would  get  a  good  husband  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  she  got  any." 

"  Oh  !  what  a  miserable  back-down,"  exclaimed  Richard. 
"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  So  your  promise 
of  a  good  husband  means  nothing  more  than  being  saved 
from  a  bad  one.  What  do  you  think  of  the  pay  now, 
Lizzy  ? — prices  are  falling." 

"  And  no  certainty  of  being  paid,"  she  replied. 

"  But  that  should  make  you  contented,  for  if  you're  not 
paid  you  run  no  risk  of  getting  bad  bills." 

"  Come  over  to  your  tea,"  said  Margaret ;  "  that  is,  if 
you  can  leave  that  fire." 

"  It's  a  good  fire,"  said  Richard,  taking  his  seat  at  the 


ERNEST    GREY.  261 

table — "  an  extra  good  one,  and  I  think  the  person  that 
made  it  deserves  the  best-tempered  fellow  I  know,  and  that 
is — guess,  Lizzy — who  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  hope  it  is  nobody  worse  than  yourself,"  whispered 
Margaret. 

Richard's  meaning  smile  satisfied  her  on  that  point. 

"  Guess,  Lizzy,"  he  repeated. 

Lizzy  shook  her  head,  and  couldn't  guess. 

"  Myself,"  said  Richard.  "  Just  take  me  for  better  for 
worse,  for  I  am  the  best-tempered  fellow  in  the  world, 
though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't  say  it.  It  takes  more  than 
a  little  to  put  me  in  bad  temper,  Lizzy.'' 

"  Could  I  put  you  in  it  if  I  tried  hard  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  one  word  from  you  would  put  me  in  bad  temper 
at  a  minute's  warning." 

"What  word?"  asked  Lizzy,  curiously. 

"  '  Xo,'  when  I  want  you  to  say  '  yes.' " 

"  Would  it  ? — then  I'll  be  sure  not  to  say  it,"  she  re- 
plied, laughingly,  "  for  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  you  in  bad 
temper." 

Richard  put  down  his  untasted  cup  of  tea,  and  half  rose 
from  his  seat ;  but  one  glance  of  those  soft  dove-like  eyes — 
those  portals  through  which  a  glimpse  could  be  obtained  of 
the  pure,  ingenuous  soul  within,  changed  his  resolution,  and 
he  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Very  good  !"  he  said,  less  in  jest  than  earnest.     "  It's 


262  THE    BRIGHT   FIRE   AND    ITS   REWARD. 

a  promise,  and  I'll  recall  it  to  your  memory  one  of  these 
days." 

"  Did  you  receive  an  answer  to  that  letter  you  sent  to 
Sing  Sing  ?"  said  Margaret,  desirous  of  changing  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Not  a  line,"  replied  Richard.  "  Perhaps  they  wouldn't 
let  him  write.  It  may  be  against  the  rules,  for  aught  I 
know.  I  heard  a  rumor  some  time  ago  that  he  was  going 
to  be  pardoned,  but  I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  it  or 
not." 

"  It's  quite  true,"  said  Lizzy  :  "  Miss  Clements  told  us  so 
to  day.  Mr.  Clements  and  several  other  wealthy  men  have 
interested  themselves  about  him,  and  he  is  to  be  pardoned 
out  at  the  end  of  six  months." 

"  Good  !  good  I"  cried  Richard,  slapping  his  hands  with 
the  unrestrained  glee  of  a  school-boy — "  that's  what  I  call 
good  news.  Does  he  know  about  Steve  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Clements  wrote  to  him  immediately  after  he 
was  sent  up,"  replied  Lizzy. 

During  the  conversation  the  business  of  the  tea-table 
progressed  ;  the  amber  liquid  flowed  freely  from  the  rigid, 
unbending  spout  of  the  tin  tea-pot ;  the  milk-pitcher  and 
sugar-basin  yielded  up  their  saccharine  and  lacteal  contents 
as  accessories  to  the  steaming  fluid,  and  cups  were  replen- 
ished and  emptied  more  than  once. 

"Any  more  demands  on  me,"  inquired  Margaret,  who 


ERNEST   GREY.  263 

presided  at  the  table — "  before  I  remove  our  darling 
china  ?" 

None  being  made,  the  tea-things  were  removed,  and  the 
table  littered  with  spools,  scissors,  thimbles  and  muslin, 
preparatory  to  a  few  hours'  work.  They  do  not  intend  to 
sit  up  late — il  is  not  necessary,  for  they  are  not  now  work- 
ing for  stores,  nor  do  they  receive  store  prices.  One  glance 
at  the  room  would  prove  the  last  fact,  for  this  is  not  the 
attic  iu  which  we  last  saw  them  ;  it  is  larger  and  airier, 
and  has  no  skylight  in  the  roof ;  but  then,  as  an  offset,  it 
has  two  decent  sized  windows,  through  which  the  moonlight 
streams  in  soft  and  white  upon  the  "floor  swept  with  a 
woman's  neatness."  Chairs  are  there  too,  sound  and  per- 
fect in  every  limb — veritable  quadrupedal  chairs,  and  a 
table,  marvelously  intact,  with  wings  expanded  on  each 
side,  gives  an  appearance  of  factitious  fullness  to  the  apart- 
ment. Nor  must  we  forget  the  stove,  the  crowning  glory 
of  the  whole,  diffusing  light  and  heat  and  pleasantness 
around,  nor  the  tiny  looking-glass  suspended  on  the  wall, 
nor  the  market-basket  occupying  a  conspicuous  position  on 
the  half-press  that  served  as  a  supplementary  table  ;  nor 
the  fire-board,  with  its  picturesque  cottage  embowered  in 
the  greenest  of  trees. 

"Now,  Richard,  if  you  had  a  book  to  read  to  us," 
said  Margaret,  "  while  we  work,  what  more  could  we 
desire  ?" 


264       POVERTY  AS  A  MORAL  AGENT. 

"  What  kind  of  a  book  would  you  like  ?" 

'  Stories,  or  poetry,"  said  Lizzy,  "  or  anything  that 
wasn't  sad." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  something  about  picturesque  pov- 
erty ?"  asked  Margaret. 

"  Picturesque  poverty  is  a  humbug,"  said  Richard,  warm- 
ly, "  and  just  as  unnatural  as  a  painted  skeleton,  or  a  corpse 
in  a  ball-dress.  I  don't  believe  in  poverty  at  all ;  I  don't 
like  it ;  I  don't  think  it  improves  any  body." 

"  You  shouldn't  say  that,  Richard,"  pleaded  Lizzy : 
"  surely  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  poor  are  bad  1" 

"/mean  it !"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Richard.  "  How 
could  you  think  it,  Lizzy  ?  I  know  that  they  are  good  ; 
but  they  are  so  in  spite  of  their  poverty,  not  on  account 
of  it.  I  tell  you  what  I  think — that  happiness  is  the 
greatest  moral  reformer,  and  when  you  prove  to  me  that 
poverty  makes  any  man  happy,  then  I'll  admit  it  makes  him 
good." 

"  Poverty  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  Siberia  of  the 
Soul,"  said  Margaret ;  "  a  state  that  favors  the  growth  of 
the  stern  and  sublime  virtues,  but  where  all  the  gentle 
feelings  and  kindly  affections  are  dwarfed  and  stunted,  and 
the  heart  of  man,  like  the  surface  of  the  earth,  is  chilled 
and  frozen." 

"But  still,"  said  Lizzy,  hesitatingly,  "the  snow  that 
wraps  the  earth  has  green  beneath  it." 


ERNEST   GREY.  265 

"  So  it  has,"  said  Richard,  with  a  genial,  approving 
smile  ;  "  but  I  fear,  Lizzy,  it  can't  be  seen  until  the  suow 
melts,  and  there  is  only  one  thing  can  do  that." 

"  But  in  those  places  where  the  snow  never  melts,  where 
it  is  frozen  through  and  through,  becoming  harder  and  less 
permeable  every  year — what  then  ?"  said  Margaret — "  no 
grass  grows  there.'' 

"  But  they  have  mountains."  said  Lizzy. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Margaret ;  "  and  the  poor  have  fortitude 
and  endurance,  which  are  loftier  than  mountains  ;  but  I 
miss  the  trees  and  flowers,  Lizzy." 

"  For  my  own  part,"  said  Richard,  "  supposing  I  could 
locate  myself  where  I  please,  it  should  be  neither  at  the 
poles  nor  the  equator,  for  if  one  extreme  indurates,  the 
other  enervates  ;  if  one  hardens  the  heart,  the  other  dries 
it  up." 

"  You  would  cast  your  lot  in  the  pleasant  places  of  the 
temperate  zone,"  said  Margaret.  "  '  Feed  me  with  food 
sufficient  for  me '  is  your  prayer." 

"  I  always  thought  that  prayer  very  presumptuous," 
observed  Lizzy.  "  It  sounds  like  making  terms  with  the 
Almighty,  telling  him  what  to  give,  in  place  of  waiting  for 
what  he  chooses  to  send." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  so,  too,"  said  Margaret ; 
"  and  again  I  have  thought  it  the  essence  of  humility,  the 
cry  of  a  heart  conscious  of  its  own  weakness,  and  desirous 


266        POVERTY  AS  A  MORAL  AGENT. 

to  be  sheltered  from  temptation  because  it  feared  its  ability 
to  resist." 

"  But  there  is  no  danger  of  our  being  tempted  beyond 
our  strength,  Margaret  ;  and  we  may  be  certain  that 
wherever  we  are  placed  is  the  right  station  for  us,"  rejoined 
Lizzy. 

"  Not  if  we  have  the  will  and  the  power  to  leave  it," 
exclaimed  Richard,  warmly.  "  Men  are  not  human  vege- 
tables. Contentment  is  a  very  good  thing,  when  it  means 
resignation  to  what  we  cannot  help  or  hinder  ;  but  the 
contentment  that  prevents  exertion  is  not  the  genuine 
article.  However,  there  is  one  thing  sure,  that  every  con- 
dition in  life  has  its  own  peculiar  virtue  :  '  the  virtue  of 
prosperity  is  temperance — the  virtue  ef  adversity  is  forti- 
tude.' " 

s 

"  Who  says  so  ?"  inquired  Margaret. 

"Lord  Bacon,  'the  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  man- 
kind.' I  have  heard  folks  say,"  continued  Richard,  "  that 
poverty  was  like  a  winter's  day,  bracing  and  invigorating, 
and  all  that." 

"  But  how  were  the  folks  off  that  said  so  ?"  interrupted 
Margaret. 

"Every  one  of  them  had  overcoats  for  winter,"  replied 
Richard,  laughing  heartily. 

"  I  guess  so,"  she  rejoined,  indignantly  ;  "  but  you  never 
heard  the  poor  eulogize  poverty." 


ERNEST   GREY.  267 

"  I  can't  say  I  did,"  said  Richard  ;  "  and  I  have  always 
found  that  those  who  praise  it  are  not  willing  to  try  it ;  so 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  man  never  cries  np 
poverty  and  patience  until  he  has  some  dollars  in  his  pocket. 
That's  what  I'll  do  when  I'm  rich." 

"Then  you  have  made  up  your  mind  about  it." 

"  Of  course  I  have — '  the  road  to  wealth  is  as  easy  as 
the  road  to  market,'  and  I  am  going  to  walk  right  straight 
into  it." 

"  Then  we  will  have  to  part  company,"  said  Lizzy,  "  for 
that's  not  our  way." 

"  You  must  make  it  your  way,"  replied  Richard,  emphat- 
ically, "for  I'm  not  going  to  travel  by  myself.  Do  you 
really  think  I'd  give  up  my  old  friends  ?  Is  that  your 
opinion  of  me,  Lizzy  ?"  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"  No,  indeed,  Richard  ;  I  only  thought  it  for  a  minute, 
and  I  had  no  right  to  think  it  at  all,"  she  replied,  earnestly. 
"  I  don't  know  how  I  could  think  such  a  thing,  for  all  the 
money  in  California  wouldn't  make  me  forget  a  friend." 

"  What  friend,  Liz  ? — Margaret,  is  it  ?"  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  slightly  trembled. 

"  Or  you,"  replied  Lizzy,  without  the  least  embarrass- 
ment. 

Richard  reddened  with  mortification,  for  he  had  hoped 
his  question  would  have  elicited  some  show  of  feeling,  and 
she  had  answered  it  as  calmly  as  if  it  had  reference  merely 


268        POVERTY  AS  A  MORAL  AGENT. 

to  the  weather.  He  didn't  know  what  to  think,  for  Lizzy's 
simplicity  puzzled  him  more  than  the  most  refined  affecta- 
tion could  have  done.  One  thing,  however,  he  knew,  that 
if  Lizzy  regarded  him  only  in  the  light  of  a  friend,  he  had 
better  stay  away,  and  he  determined  to  ascertain  this,  if 
possible,  before  he  left. 

"  We  began  about  books,"  he  said,  addressing  Margaret, 
"  and  we  ended  at  California.  To  come  back  to  the  sub- 
ject, I  have  got  the  'Ancient  Mariner'  at  home— shall  I 
bring  it  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Margaret  knows  it  by  heart,"  exclaimed  Lizzy  : 
"  she  has  often  repeated  it  to  me,  word  for  word,  and  it  has 
made  my  flesh  creep,  and  my  blood  curdle,  every  time. 
You  should  hear  her  repeat  poetry,  Richard :  she  knows 
any  quantity." 

"  Very  fortunately  for  me,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  have  an 
excellent  memory,  or  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  these  latter  years,  deprived  as  I  have  been  of  books. 
I  am  living  on  the  interest  of  Capital  accumulated  ages 
ago,  to  which  I  have  long  ceased  to  make  any  additions." 

"  I  shall  try  and  get  some  new  book  for  to-morrow,  and 
bring  it  with  me — if  I  come." 

"  What  will  keep  yon  away  ?"  asked  Lizzy 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Lizzy,  I  don't  think  I  ought  to 
come  so  often." 

"  Why,  Richard  ?"  she  inquired,  anxiously. 


ERNEST 'GREY.  269 

"  Because  it  makes  me  restless  at  home,  and  I  feel  dis- 
satisfied everywhere  else." 

"That  ought  to  make  you  come  the  oftener — oughtn't 
it,  Margaret  ?  So  I  am  very  glad  you  don't  feel  satisfied. 
Can't  you  come  every  night  ?" 

"  Oh,  but  that  won't  do,"  said  Richard.  "  I'll  leave  it 
to  Margaret — will  it  ?"  he  said,  appealing  to  her  by  word 
and  look. 

"  I  think  it  will  do  very  well  for  awhile,"  she  replied  : 
"  Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day." 

The  answer  did  not  sound  very  pertinent,  yet,  to  judge 
from  the  expression  of  Kane's  face,  it  was  satisfactory. 

"  If  you  say  so,  it's  all  right,"  he  said,  glancing  at  Mar- 
garet with  a  look  full  of  meaning. 

"  Don't  fasten  your  eyes  on  me,"  said  Margaret,  with  a 
careless  laugh,  as  she  saw  the  look  had  not  passed  unno- 
ticed. 

"  I  don't  intend  to,"  he  said,  jestingly,  "  for  that  wouldn't 
improve  either  of  us  :  bad  as  they  are,  I  can  neither  do 
without  them  nor  better  them." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  we  should  do  if  you 
stayed  away,  Richard,"  said  Lizzy,  suddenly  dropping  her 
work  as  she  spoke,  and  looking  up  to  him  with  eyes  suffused 
in  tears  ;  "  we  would  be  quite  lost,  we  could  never  get  along 
without  you." 

"  Couldn't  you  ?"  said  Richard,  joyously,  his  handsome 


270  GOING   TO   PE   MARRIED. 

face  glowing  with  animated  pleasure.  "  I'd  rather  hear 
you  say  that  than  get  a  thousand  dollars." 

"  And  if  I  hadn't  said  it,  Richard,  you  ought  to  have 
known  it  all  the  same." 

"  Good  !"  thought  Margaret ;  "  if  you  had  been  thinking 
all  your  life,  you  couldn't  have  said  anything  more  to  the 
purpose.  The  wiliest  coquette  in  the  city  couldn't  manage 
better  than  my  little,  artless  Lizzy.  That  remark  has  done 
for  you,  Mr.  Kane." 

And  so  it  would  seem,  for  Richard  moved  uneasily  in 
his  chair,  started  for  the  window,  looked  out  and  saw 
nothing,  hurried  back  again  and  began  poking  the  fire, 
with  the  desperate  energy  of  a  man  determined  to  brave 
his  fate. 

"  What  spite  have  you  against  that  fire  ?"  said  Margaret, 
maliciously. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Richard,  wheeling  his  chair 
round  to  the  table — "  before  next  winter  I'll  have  a  house 
of  my  own,  and  as  good  a  fire  as  you  have  here." 

"  But  who'll  make  it  for  you  ?"  said  Lizzy,  laughing. 

"  His  wife,  to  be  sure,"  said  Margaret. 

"  His  wife  !''  repeated  Lizzy,  changing  color.  "  Are  you 
going  to  be  married  ?" 

"I  hope  so,  Lizzy,"  he  replied,  tenderly,  "if  you  have  no 
objection." 

"  Me !     My  objection  wouldn't  be  of  any  consequence." 


ERNEST   RREY.  271 

"  Wouldn't  it,  Liz  ?  If  you  say  '  no,'  I'll  never  marry — 
I'll  not  even  think  of  it." 

"  Well,  don't  think  of  it  yet,  Richard,  for  then  we  would 
lose  you  altogether.  Wait  for  a  little  while — won't  you  ?" 

"  A  very  little  while.  But  I  must  go,"  he  said,  starting 
up  suddenly.  "I'll  bring  the  book  to-morrow.  Good- 
night !  How  dark  it  is  !"  he  said,  opening  the  door. 

"Wait,  Richard,  and  I'll  light  yon  down,"  said  Mar- 
garet, taking  the  lamp  from  the  table  and  following  him 
down  stairs. 

At  the  door  he  stood  awhile,  as  if  undecided  what  to  do 
or  say.  Margaret  spoke  first. 

"  You  don't  understand  Lizzy,  Richard  ;  and  she  doesn't 
understand  herself." 

"  She  doesn't  care  for  me  ;  she  has  no  more  feeling  than 
a  stone,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  angry  sorrow. 

"  You  know  better  than  that,  Richard." 

"  I  might  get  married  to-morrow,  for  all  she  cares." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Margaret,  quietly  ; 
"  you  have  the  best  right  to  know  ;  I  suppose  it  is  as  you 
say." 

"  It  is  no  such  thing,  Margaret,  and  you  know  it  ain't," 
he  exclaimed,  impatiently.  "I'll  not  believe  anybody  but 
herself,  and  I'll  ask  her  the  question  plump." 

"  Act  as  you  please,  Richard  ;  but  as  you  wish  to  suc- 
ceed, don't  be  too  precipitate.  Good-night !" 


272  GOING   TO   BE   MARRIED. 

When  they  left  the  room,  Lizzy  fell  into  a  reverie  from 
which  Margaret's  return  failed  to  rouse  her.  Her  work 
lay  neglected  on  her  knee,  while  busy  thought  recalled 
every  incident  connected  with  Richard  Kane,  from  the 
morning  she  first  met  him  in  Broadway  till  the  conver- 
sation which  had  just  taken  place.  Was  their  pleasant 
intercourse  to  be  broken  off  at  once  ?  She  feared  so,  for 
the  more  she  pondered  on  his  words,  the  more  convinced 
was  she  of  his  seriousness.  Going  to  be  married — oh,  why 
had  he  not  said  so  before  ?  Poor  Lizzy  !  the  veil  was 
lifted  from  her  heart,  and  she  shrank  aghast  at  what  it 
revealed. 

Margaret  observed  her  some  time  with  affectionate  in- 
terest, but  did  not  seek  to  disturb  her  meditations,  until 
she  became  aware,  by  the  sudden  flush  that  overspread 
cheek  and  brow,  that  Lizzy  had  penetrated  the  mystery  of 
her  own  heart.  Then  she  arose  quietly  and  left  the  room, 
and  immediately  returned,  closing  the  door  with  a  noise 
that  would  have  awakened  the  seven  sleepers. 

Lizzy  started,  took  up  her  work  and  turned  to  Margaret, 
as  if  expecting  her  to  speak  ;  but  Margaret  preserved  a 
profound  silence,  and  moved  by  a  restless  anxiety  to  know 
her  thoughts,  Lizzy  remarked — 

"  How  bad  we  will  feel  when  Richard  gets  married." 
"We!  no,  no,  Liz.     /shall  be  very  glad  of  it." 
"  Margaret  1"  exclaimed  the  astonished  girl. 


ERNEST   GREY.  273 

"  Certainly  ;  why  not  ?  Think  how  pleasant  it  will  be 
for  him,  Lizzy,  to  have  a  home,  not  a  place  to  call  in — 
but  a  home  where  he  can  forget  every  trouble,  and  rest 
after  every  toil — a  home  happy  as  his  nature,  and  pleasant 
as  his  smile." 

"  Yes,"  smilingly  answered  Lizzy — "  yes,  I  would  like  that." 

"  And  an  affectionate  wife,"  continued  Margaret,  "  who 
would  share  his  prosperity  and  adversity,  lighten  the  one, 
and  enable  him  to  bear  the  other — be  the  rainbow  in  his 
sorrow,  and  the  sunbeam  in  his  joy.  Would  you  like  that, 
Liz  ?" 

Lizzy  made  no  reply  ;  but  she  stooped  her  burning  face 
over  the  work,  to  hide  the  fast-falling  tears. 

"  Would  you  ?"  reiterated  Margaret. 

"  I — I — don't  know  who  he  is  going  to  marry." 

"  Why,  you  little  simpleton,"  replied  Margaret,  catching 
both  hands  in  her's,  and  gazing  fondly  into  Lizzy's  agitated 
face — "  can  you  not  guess  ?  Who  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  don't  ask  me,"  was  her  half-impatient 
answer.  "  It's  cruel,"  she  added,  unconsciously. 

"  What's  cruel  ?"  provokingly  replied  Margaret — "  cruel 
of  Richard  to  get  married  ?  I  don't  think  so,  and  yet  I 
will  be  the  greatest  sufferer." 

"  You  !"  exclaimed  the  amazed,  heart-struck  Lizzy. 
"  Oh,  Margaret !  dear  Margaret,  is  it  possible — do  you 
love  him  too  ?'' 


274  GOING  TO   BE   MARRIED. 

"  Love  him  too,"  repeated  Margaret,  with  a  low,  quiet 
laugh.  "  Why,  do  you  ?  Ah,  Liz,  Liz,"  she  added,  fold- 
ing her  tenderly  in  her  arms,  "  I  knew  it  all  the  time  ;  and 
now  I  will  tell  you  who  Richard  loves — don't  tremble,  you 
silly  thing.  Can  you  bear  it  ?" 

Lizzy  looked  up,  her  lips  firmly  compressed,  her  face 
pale  as  marble. 

"  Lizzy  Roberts." 

She  was  mute,  but  her  reproachful  look  spoke  vol- 
umes. 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  would  trifle  with  you  at  such  a 
time,  on  such  a  subject?"  inquired  Margaret,  with  gentle 
seriousness.  "  No,  Lizzy,  surely  not ;  you  ought  to  knovr 
me  better.  Believe  me,  if  you  loved  Richard  twice  as  much 
as  you  do,  you  couldn't  love  him  better  than  he  does  you, 
nor  more  than  he  deserves.  Are  you  ashamed  of  loving 
him  ?" 

"  Ashamed  !"  Lizzy  replied,  almost  proudly. 

"  Ah  1  you  can  be  indignant.  If  Richard  only  heard 
you  now." 

Lizzy  glanced  uneasily  round  the  room,  then  flinging  her 
arms  round  Margaret's  neck,  and  hiding  her  blushing  face 
on  her  shoulder,  she  whispered,  in  low,  beseeching  tones,  a 
request  that  she  would  not  tell  Richard. 

"  Tell  him  what  ?"  laughed  Margaret,  provokingly. 
"  Not  I,"  she  added,  immediately,  "  tell  him  in  your  own 


ERNEST  OREY.  275 

good  time.  He  would  not  wish  to  hear  it  from  me.  Tell 
him  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  vehemently  protested  Lizzy  ;  "  not  to- 
morrow. I  hardly  know  it  myself." 

The  morrow  Richard  did  not  come,  nor  the  morrow 
after,  but  in  his  stead  came  a  note,  stating  that  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  city  without  seeing  them,  that  he  had 
received  intelligence  of  his  father's  dangerous  illness,  and 
that  he  could  not  say  when  he  would  return. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

NEWS    FROM   THE    OUTSIDE  WORLD — A    SUICIDE    IN    SING 

SING PRISON    POETRY WHO  WROTE   IT  ? MURDER 

OF    FRANK    HILL. 

MONTHS  had  passed  since  Ernest  Grey  crossed  the  thresh- 
hoid  of  the  prison,  and  during  that  time  strange  tidings 
reached  him  from  the  outer  world.  Richard  Kane's  im- 
passioned, self-accusing  letter,  recalling  the  fearful  scenes 
that  preceded  his  arrest,  caused  him  many  a  bitter  tear, 
and  when  he  read  Mr.  Clements'  calm  but  earnest  one; 
acknowledging  his  innocence,  and  expressing  sincere  sorrow 
for  being  the  primary  cause  of  his  suffering,  his  eyes  flashed 
with  exultation,  only  tempered  by  the  instantly  recurring 
thought  that  she  was  not  alive  to  share  it.  But  when  he 
read  further,  and  became  aware  of  the  exertions  making  in 
his  behalf,  and  the  prospects  before  Steve,  he  put  the  letter 
down,  with  the  determination  not  to  see  Steve  for  a  time, 
and  to  leave  New  York  as  soon  after  his  liberation  as  he 
possibly  could,  make  his  way  to  some  of  the  western  states, 
and  return  when  he  had  re-established  his  character,  and 


ERNEST   GREY.  277 

when  all  danger  of  being  recognized  by  his  prison  associates 
hud  vanished. 

Smith  had  undertaken,  on  his  own  responsibility,  to  keep 
those  letters  from  him  for  weeks,  and  flatly  refused  him 
permission  to  return  an  answer.  Ernest  vehemently  pro- 
tested against  this  tyrannic  cruelty,  and  at  last  threatened 
to  appeal  to  the  Warden.  For  this  he  was  thrown  into  his 
cell,  deprived  of  food  for  two  days,  and  an  iron  collar,  with 
six  spikes,  fastened  round  his  neck.  This  was  no  temporary 
punishment,  for  it  remained  on,  night  and  day,  for  weeks, 
galling  the  flesh,  and  making  the  slightest  movement  painful 

When  Ernest  entered  the  workshop  after  his  two  days' 
solitary  confinement,  he  observed  an  additional  shade  of 
gloom  on  the  countenance  of  every  man  present.  He 
looked  for  Frank  Hill,  and  knew,  by  the  horror  depicted 
in  his  every  feature,  that  something  terrible  had  occurred. 
He  soon  learned  the  cause.  One  of  the  prisoners,  who  was 
a  universal  favorite  among  his  associates,  maddened  by  the 
cruel  treatment  he  had  received  from  the  keeper,  and  fear- 
ing a  recurrence  of  it,  committed  suicide.  On  his  bunk 
was  found  a  few  lines,  saying  that  he  did  it  to  escape 
punishment,  that  he  couldn't  and  wouldn't  bear  the  treat- 
ment he  was  receiving,  that  he  would  rather  die  at  once  ; 
and  ended  by  entreating  the  Keeper  "  not  to  be  so  fond  of 
punishing  his  fellow-creatures,  as  he  would  have  an  account 
to  give  some  time." 


278  PRISON   POETRY — WHO   WROTE   IT? 

The  prison  authorities  did  their  best  to  hush  the  matter 
up,  and  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  from  the  convicts,  but  by 
some  means  the  fact  transpired,  and  spread  among  them 
like  wildfire,  intimidating  some,  exasperating  others,  and 
horrifying  all.  Some  time  after,  the  following  lines  of 
doggrel  were  discovered  on  the  door  of  Smith's  apartment : 

"  For  a  heart  of  steel  and  an  arm  of  pith, 
Who  can  equal  our  Keeper  Smith  ? 
There's  none  like  him  on  the  rolls  of  fame, 
For  drunk,  or  sober,  he's  still  the  same. 
That  before  he  dies  he  may  dance  on  a  string, 
Is  the  prayer  of  each  prisoner  now  in  Sing  Sing." 

He  was  furious,  raved  like  a  madman,  stamped  and  swore 
that,  if  he  didn't  find  out  the  writer,  he  would  punish  every 
man  in  the  room. 

"  Who  wrote  these  lines  ?"  he  shouted,  in  a  towering 
passion,  "  who  wrote  them,  I  say  ?  Don't  think  you  can 
deceive  me.  I'll  find  out  if  I  was  to  cut  it  out  of  your 
hearts,  I  will.  I'll  flog  every  man  in  this  room,  if  you  don't 
confess." 

The  under-keeper  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  Yes,  I'll  shower  every  d d  one  of  you,  you  set  of 

miserable,  ungrateful  devils.  If  I  was  another,  I'd  flay  you 
alive.  Who  wrote  them  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  ;  the  terrified  prisoners  looked  at 
each  other  in  mute  dismav. 


ERNEST   GREY.  279 

"  I  think  I  know  who  did  it,"  he  said,  glaring  at  Frank 
Hill  with  the  ferocity  of  a  wild  beast  about  to  spring  upon 

his  prey  ;  "and  he  shan't  escape  me— ^-no,  by ,  he  shall 

suffer  for  it.  He  thinks  himself  smart,  but  I'll  make  him 
smart  for  it,"  and  a  low  laugh  followed  his  brutal  pun,  like 
the  malicious  chuckle  of  a  fiend. 

Poor  Frank  trembled  in  every  limb,  for  though  he  did 
not  dare  to  lift  his  eyes  to  his  tormentor's  face,  he  knew 
that  the  tirade  was  directed  against  him,  and  his  dread  of 
the  shower-bath  was  so  excessive,  that  the  very  name  made 
him  shrink  hi  terror. 

"  I'll  give  yous  one  chance  more,"  exclaimed  Smith, 
addressing  them,  indiscriminately.  "  Who  wrote  the 
lines  ?  will  you  own  up  before  I  order  you  out  for  punish- 
ment r 

With  one  voice  they  denied  all  knowledge  of  them,  no 
one  had  written  them,  no  one  had  seen  them  written, 
and  no  one  could  imagine  who  wrote  them,  or  how  they 
got  there. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  see  how  it  is  :  you  won't  peach 
— honor  among  thieves,  eh  ? — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  that's  good. 
But  you've  met  your  match,  my  men  :  I'll  break  your 
spirits  if  they  were  twice  as  high  ; — aye,  if  you  were  as 
stubborn  as  mules,  I'd  make  you  submissive,  make  you  mind. 
How  dare  you  look  at  me  that  way,  sir  ?''  he  exclaimed, 
turning  to  the  prisoner  known  as  No.  4Tr>. 


280  MURDER   OF   PRANK    HILL. 

"  A  ca,t  may  look  at  a  king,"  said  the  man,  doggedly. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth,  when  the 
keeper's  heavy  club  struck  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  made 
him  reel. 

"  How  dare  you  give  me  such  an  answer  ?"  roared 
Smith,  furious  at  the  outrage  on  his  dignity.  "  We  must 
teach  you  manners,  I  see  ;  we  must  give  you  a  little  extra 
punishment." 

"Punish  away,"  was  the  reckless  answer,  "just  as  much 
as  you  have  a  mind  to.  I  don't  mind  punishment  no  more 
than  nothin'  at  all." 

"  You  don't — eh  ?"  said  Smith,  vindictively.  "  Very 
well,  we'll  see  what  metal  you're  made  of.  Here,"  he 
said,  addressing  the  under-keepers,  "take  these  men  and 
shower  them  one  after  another — five  barrels  for  every  one 
except  these,"  pointing  to  No.  475  and  Hill — "give  them 
six." 

Eight  men  were  before  Hill,  and  as  he  saw  this  barrier 
gradually  disappear,  his  fear  became  frenzy.  At  last  his 
turn  came,  and  the  keepers  pounced  upon  him,  and  seized 
him  by  the  arm.  He  shrank  from  them  as  if  the  cold  of 
the  water  had  already  reached  him,  and  appealed  to  Smith, 
protesting  his  innocence,  and  entreating  to  be  spared. 
His  entreaties  made  no  more  impression  on  him  than  the 
sigh  of  the  wind  ;  he  listened  to  them  for  a  time,  patiently 
enough,  and  then  ordered  the  men  to  take  him  away. 


ERNEST   GREY.  281 

"  Save  me,  Grey  :"  he  exclaimed,  imploringly,  extending 
his  hand  in  the  firm  belief  that  he  could  help  him.  "  Save 
me,  for  God's  sake  !" 

"  I  will,"  said  Ernest,  determined  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
wholesale  cruelty,  by  taking  the  blame  upon  himself.  "  Let 
him  go.  I  did  it." 

A  gleam  of  joy  shot  athwart  Hill'a  emaciated  face,  as 
the  certainty  of  escape  became  apparent  to  his  bewildered 
mind. 

"  So  you  did  it,"  said  Smith,  eyeing  Grey  with  malignant 
pleasure.  "You're  the  poet.  Very  well.  We'll  do  as 

we  would  be  done  by — we'll  distinguish  you,  you  d d 

canting,  hypocritical  rascal.  Don't  let  him  take  that  collar 
off — you  must  wear  it,"  he  added,  "  until  you  make  better 
verses  than  these.  Take  him  away,  and  don't  forget  about 
the  collar." 

Anxious  to  secure  another  victim,  Smith's  eyes  wandered 
round  the  circle,  and  rested  upon  Frank  Hill,  who  had 
slunk  behind,  almost  out  of  view. 

"  And  so  you  knew  all  the  time  who  wrote  it,"  he  said, 
lashing  himself  into  anger.  "  Perhaps  you  wrote  part  of  it 
yourself." 

Frank  eagerly  assured  him  that  he  never  wrote  a  line  of 
it,  and  never  knew  who  did.  But  if  he  spoke  with  the 
tongue  of  an  angel,  it  would  not  have  availed  him,  for  fron 
the  first  Smith  had  determined  to  find  or  make  an  excuse 


282  MURDER   OF   FRANK    HILL. 

| 

for  implicating  him.  If  he  had  escaped,  the  punishment 
of  every  individual  in  the  room  would  have  given  him  no 
pleasure. 

Poor  Frank  Hill !  your  sufferings  are  nearly  over.  A 
few  hours  more,  and  the  cruelty  of  keepers  cannot  affect 
you. 

More  dead  than  alive,  he  was  dragged  to  the  bath, 
showered,  and  thrown  into  his  cell.  What  he  suffered 
during  that  night,  is  known  only  to  God.  There,  alone, 
without  a'  kind  voice  to  whisper  comfort  to  his  departing 
soul,  without  a  loving  hand  to  wipe  the  death  damps  from 
his  brow,  or  wet  his  parching  lips,  without  an  ear  to  catch 
his  last  faltering  accents,  Frank  Hill  departed,  his  dying 
struggles  unseen  by  any  mortal  eye,  his  dying  moans  waken- 
ing no  echo  in  any  human  heart.  And  yet  but  a  few  miles 
away,  iu  a  country  homestead,  beneath  whose  eaves  birds 
build  their  nests,  and  by  whose  side  runs  a  gurgling  brook 
• — he  knew  it  well — are  tranquilly  sleeping  many  who  would 
lay  down  their  lives  for  him.  Alas  !  what  avails  it  ?  Did 
his  mind  revert  to  it  or  them  ?  Perhaps  in.  thought  he 
died  at  home  ;  perhaps,  at  his  last  hour,  the  prison  and  its 
attendant  horrors  vanished,  and  were  replaced  by  that 
scene  of  external  pleasantness  and  internal  peace. 

Morning  dawned  warm  and  bright  ;  the  broad  rolling 
Hudson  flashed  beneath  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  arid 
Nature  started  from  her  nocturnal  slumber  to  greet  him  ; 


ERNEST  GREY.  283 

but  within  that  narrow  cell,  through  whose  grated  window 
he  poured  a  flood  of  light,  lay  one  whom  only  the  Sun  of 
Righteousness  can  resuscitate — one  who  fell  a  victim,  not 
tq  the  errors  of  one  man,  but  the  faults  of  a  system,"  not  to 
the  brutality  of  a  keeper,  but  the  guilty  supineness  of  his 
fellow-men,  and  the  cruel  indifference  with  which  they  turn 
from  everything  that  "  is  not  their  business." 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE    RELEASE    FROM    SING-SING DICK   THE    BURGLAR 

THE   DREAM — DETECTION    OF   THE    BURGLARS GREY 

IS    FATALLY    WOUNDED. 

THE  application  to  the  Governor  for  pardon  was  successful ; 
the  term  of  imprisonment  was  reduced  to  six  months,  and 
at  the  expiration  of  that  period  Ernest  Grey  stood  once 
more  in  the  streets  of  New  York,  a  free  man.  Prior  to 
leaving  the  prison,  he  had  received  a  letter  from  ^,lr. 
Clements,  enclosing  some  money,  and  directing  him  to  pro- 
ceed to  his  house  without  delay  ;  but  though  his  heart 
yearned  to  see  Steve,  he  adhered  to  the  resolution  he  had 
previously  formed,  of  leaving  his  native  state. 

While  looking  about  for  an  humble  lodging-house  in 
which  to  spend  the  night,  a  man  passed,  and  catching  a 
glimpse  of  his  face,  turned  suddenly  and  slapped  him  on 
the  shoulder.  It  was  Dick  the  Burglar.  Warmly  Ernest 
grasped  the  extended  hand,  and  thanked  him  for  the  sea- 
sonable relief  he  had  afforded  him  in  his  extremity.  To 
this  Dick  turned  a  deaf  ear,  but  insisted  that  he  should 


ERNEST   GREY.  285 

go  with  him,  and  tell  him  all  about  his  old  comrades  who 
were  iu  prison.  Hearing  he  was  alone,  Ernest  consented, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  night  was  spent  in  relating 
prison  anecdotes,  which  Dick  never  wearied  of  hearing. 
At  last,  when  all  was  told,  he  flung  himself  on  a  heap  of 
straw,  motioned  to  Ernest  to  do  the  same,  and  was  soon 
fast  asleep. 

For  a  while  Ernest  remained  awake,  laying  out  his  plans 
for  the  future,  and  indulging  in  fond  anticipations  concern- 
ing Steve,  but  at  length  he  yielded  to  the  drowsy  influence 
of  the  time  and  place,  and  slumbered  where  he  sat.  In 
sleep,  his  life  lay  spread  before  him  like  a  map  :  he  could 
retrace  the  windings  of  his  course  through  many  years  ; 
incidents  long  since  forgotten  came  up  before  him,  and  the 
friends  of  former  days  crowded  round  him.  Again  he  was 
a  school-boy,  ardent  and  ambitious,  first  hi  every  feat  of 
boyish  daring  ;  again  he  hid  among  the  rustling  grass,  or 
the  umbrageous  foliage  of  the  forest  trees  ;  again  inhaled 
the  fragrance  of  the  new-mown  hay,  or  drank  deep  draughts 
of  limpid  water  from  the  well.  Suddenly  the  country 
vanished,  and  within  a  Christian  temple  by  his  side  stood 
a  gentle,  blue-eyed  girl,  in  bridal  veil  and  robes  of  purest 
white.  It  was  his  wedding-day,  and  with  proud  fondness 
he  gazed  upon  the  blushing  face  and  graceful  form  of  her 
he  loved,  but  even  as  he  gazed  the  features  became  hollow 
and  cadaverous,  the  form  emaciated,  the  eyes  glazed  and 


THE   DREAM. 

filmy,  a  convulsive  shudder  shook  her  feeble  frame,  and  she 
Iny  still  in  death.  Then  with  the  rapidity  and  incongruity 
of  a  dream,  the  scene  changed,  and  he  found  himself,  he 
knew  not  how  nor  wherefore,  iu  a  magnificent  apartment 
brilliantly  lighted.  On  the  floor  a  man  lay  extended,  and 
from  his  side  the  warm  life-blood  trickled  on  the  carpet, 
staining  the  pureness  of  its  ivory  ground.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  shape  and  size  of  the  wounded  man  that  made 
his  heart  throb  wildly.  With  a  bound  he  cleared  the  room 
and  stood  beside  him,  looked  eagerly  into  the  upturned 
features,  and  with  a  cry  of  horror  recognized  his  own. 
The  shock  awoke  him.  Dick  was  still  asleep  ;  the  candle 
still  burning,  but  dimly,  for  it  was  at  the  socket,  and  the 
greyish  light  of  early  morning  was  struggling  with  the 
retreating  darkness. 

Ernest  had  intended  to  leave  New  York  that  day,  but, 
an  irresistible  desire  to  visit  the  house  where  his  wife  died, 
and  to  look  on  the  outside  of  that  which  sheltered  his  child, 
took  possession  of  him,  and  he  determined  to  gratify  it. 
Towards  evening  he  might  be  seen  wandering  up  and  down 
before  the  wretched  habitation  that  was  her  last  earthly 
abode,  and  when  the  lamp  was  lit,  drawing  close  to  the 
windows,  and  scanning  the  faces  of  its  inmates,  to  ascertain 
if  sorrow  was  among  them. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  night.  "  The  balmiest  sigh 
that  vernal  zephyr  ever  breathed  in  evening's  ear,"  was 


ERNEST  GREY.  287 

murmuring  through  the  trees  that  shaded  Mr.  Clements'  resi- 
dence. On  the  balcony  a  pleasant  party  was  assembled,  chat- 
ting and  laughing  in  all  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  familiar 
intercourse.  Among  them  was  one  privileged  person,  a 
bright-eyed,  laughing  boy,  who  ran  in  and  out  as  he  listed, 
romped  with  Emily,  or  placed  himself  fearlessly  between 
Mr.  Clements'  knees,  to  watch  the  fire-flies  glancing  through 
the  dark  green  leaves.  Allowing  for  the  difference  of 
season,  it  was  such  a  scene  as  Ernest  Grey  had  looked  on 
six  months  ago  ;  and  now  again  he  was  present.  He  saw 
and  understood  it  all.  That  child  was  his.  No  change  of 
dress  could  deceive  the  father's  eye,  the  father's  heart.  He 
would  have  known  him  under  the  robes  of  royalty,  or  the 
rags  of  mendicancy.  It  was  his  Steve. 

"\Vith  a  heart  overflowing  with  gratitude,  to  Him  who 
out  of  evil  bringeth  good,  Ernest  Grey  looked  and  listened, 
noted  the  unconstrained  freedom  of  the  boy's  movements, 
and  with  swimming  eyes  observed  the  caresses  lavished  on 
him  by  all. 

The  lights  were  all  extinguished,  the  sounds  of  busy  life 
were  still,  yet  Ernest  Grey  remained  so  lost  to  all  sur- 
rounding objects,  that  he^  did  not  for  some  time  observe 
two  stealthy  figures,  moving  so  noiselessly  that  they  awoke 
no  footfall,  examining  Mr.  Clements'  house  on  every  side, 
as  if  seeking  for  the  easiest  mode  of  ingress.  But  once  his 
attention  was  aroused,  he  observed  them  narrowly,  and 


288  DETECTION    OF   THE   BURGLARS. 

immediately  became  aware  that  they  were  burglars,  intent 
upon  forcing  an  entrance.  His  mind  was  made  up  at  once  : 
he  determined  to  remain  perfectly  still,  and  watching  their 
movements  until  they  effected  an  entrance,  make  his  way 
into  the  house,  and  act  afterwards  as  circumstances  would 
render  most  prudent.  In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time 
they  disappeared.  With  a  light,  rapid  step,  Ernest  fol- 
lowed ;  he  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  basement  door, 
which,  as  he  calculated,  was  open  to  facilitate  their  egress, 
then  entered,  closed  the  door  gently,  and  hastened  up  the 
basement  stairs. 

The  two  men  were  in  the  parlor.  Each  carried  a  dark 
lantern,  and  wore  masks  which  partly  concealed  their  fea- 
tures. Still  Ernest  thought  that  one  was  familiar  to  him, 
and  he  endeavored  to  catch  the  tones  of  his  voice,  to  ascer- 
tain if  his  suspicions  were  correct.  Was  it  indeed  his  host 
of  the  preceding  night  ?  If  so,  he  would  warn  him  to 
escape  before  he  alarmed  the  inmates,  for  gratitude  he 
thought  demanded  no  less. 

"Dick,"  said  the  other  ruffian,  in  a  guarded  whisper, 
"  we're  losing  time  ;  there's  nothing  here — up  stairs  is  the 
place." 

"  Come  along  then,  Tom,"  replied  Dick,  in  accents  there 
was  no  mistaking.  "  Follow,  I'll  lead  the  way." 

"If  you  attempt  to  go  further,  I'll  alarm  the  house," 


-  x 

\ 
I 

tsi  Pi-.>. 

\-A    £71 


IN    SLEEP,     HIS    LIFE    LAY    SPKEA1)    HEFOHF.    HI>t    LIKE    A    MAP. 


ERNEST   GEEY.  289 

sternly  uttered  Ernest,  emerging  from  the  gloom  as  he 
spoke,  and  barring  their  passage  to  the  stairs. 

In  momentary  alarm  the  burglars  fell  back,  but  discover- 
ing that  they  had  but  one  to  contend  with,  they  instantly 
rallied  and  sprang  upon  Ernest.  He  had  no  difficulty  in 
eluding  their  grasp,  for  they  were  encumbered  with  the 
lanterns.  With  one  bound  he  was  up  the  stairs,  but  Tom 
seeing  the  imminence  of  the  danger,  flung  away  the  lantern 
and  followed.  He  soon  overtook  him,  seized  him  in  his 
iron  grasp,  and  dragged  him  down. 

"  Don't  kill  him,  Tom,"  pleaded  the  other  ;  "  I  know  the 
man." 

"If  he  was  your  father  I'd  do  it,"  he  savagely  retorted. 
"This  game's  up  through  him."  And  drawing  a  bowie- 
knife  from  his  belt,  he  plunged  it  into  his  side. 

Ernest  felt  that  it  was  his  death-blow,  and,  determined  to 
effect  his  purpose,  he  summoned  all  his  strength  and  shouted 
aloud.  Before  the  echo  of  his  voice  died  away,  the  tramp 
of  hurrying  feet  was  heard,  and  the  burglars  fled,  affrighted. 
What  followed  was  a  blank  to  Ernest.  When  he  awoke 
to  consciousness,  Mr.  Clements  was  bending  over  him,  and 
Robert  was  endeavoring  to  staunch  the  wound  in  his  side. 
No  other  was  in  the  room,  for  Mr.  Clements,  as  soon  as  he 
recognized  Grey,  dismissed  all,  fearing  that  his  son,  in  the 
first  paroxysm  of  emotion,  might  betray  himself.  'Twas 
fortunate  he  did  so,  for  his  remorse  burst  all  bounds,  and 


290  GREY   IS   FATALLY   WOUNDED. 

he  loudly  denounced  himself  as  the  murderer  of  the  dying 
man. 

"  Hush  1"  said  Mr.  Clements,  warningly  ;  "  he  hears 
you." 

But.  prudential  considerations  were  of  no  more  weight 
than  a  feather — or  rather,  they  were  unthought  of — the 
one  engrossing  feeling  absorbed  and  overpowered  every 
other,  and  Robert  poured  into  the  ear  of  the  wondering 
man  his  tale  of  sin  and  suffering.  Several  times  Ernest 
strove  to  stop  him,  but  he  might  as  well  talk  to  the  winds  ; 
the  storm  of  passion  was  too  mighty  to  be  controlled  ;  the 
tumult  of  his  soul  could  not  be  allayed  by  words. 

"  Now  can  you  forgive  me  ?"  inquired  Robert,  bending 
low  to  catch  the  answer. 

Ernest  grasped  his  hands,  and  pressed  them  to  his 
heart. 

"Forgive,"  he  replied,  turning  his  eyes  from  father  to 
son — "  yes,  from  my  heart,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven. 
"What  you  have  done  for  Steve  would  wipe  out  ten  times 
that.  Oh,  Steve  1  Steve  !"  he  added,  dwelling  lovingly 
on  the  word  ;  "if  I  could  but  see  you." 

"  Bring  him,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  hastily,  "  and 
return  with  him  alone." 

"Wait,"  said  Ernest,  entreatingly,  laying  his  hand  on 
Robert's  arm  to  detain  him  ;  "  I  would  tell  you  what 
brought  me  here  before  you  go." 


ERNEST   GREY.  291 

The  tale  was  soon  told,  and  Robert  proceeded  for 
Steve. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us  !  what  is  this  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
recoiling  with  horror,  as  a  volume  of  smoke  poured  into 
the  room  through  the  open  door.  "The  house  is  on 
fire  1" 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE    BURNING    BUILDING — RESCUE    OF    AGATHA    CLEMENTS    AND 
LIZZY    ROBERTS RICHARD    KANE,    THE    FIREMAN. 

WHEN  Dick  gained  the  open  street  he  turned  to  look  for 
his  companion,  and  found  himself  alone,  but,  fearing  pur- 
suit, he  hurried  on,  leaving  his  accomplice  to  shift  for 
himself.  In  the  meantime,  Tom,  who  was  furiously  exas- 
perated at  the  disappointment,  neglected  his  safety  to 
obtain  revenge,  and,  in  place  jof  securing  a  retreat,  set  fire 
to  the  basement  floor  in  several  places,  and  then  hastened 
from  the  doomed  building,  his  brutal  features  wearing  a 
smile  of  demoniac  malignity.  Soon  after,  a  light  smoke 
issued  from  the  basement  door,  which  grew,  gradually, 
denser  and  blacker,  and  while  Mr.  Clements  and  Robert 
were  engaged  with  Grey,  the  fire  progressed  rapidly,  and 
assumed  a  threatening  appearance. 

The  alarm  was  soon  given,  the  pealing  of  fire-bells  broke 
the  stillness  of  the  night,  and  almost  simultaneously  with 
the  first  stroke  was  heard  the  sound  of  rolling  wheels  and 
tramping  feet.  Then  came  the  loud,  hoarse  cries  of  the 


ERNEST   GREY.  293 

hurrying  firemen,  urging  each  other  on  to  their  utmost 
speed,  growing  louder  and  hoarser  as  they  advanced.  On 
they  swept,  their  eagerness  increasing  as  they  neared  the 
burning  building,  and  as  they  came  within  sight  of  the 
fearful  element,  it  was  their  delight  to  encounter  and  their 
glory  to  subdue,  the*  wild,  exulting  shout  that  burst  from 
them  resembled  the  charging  cry  of  an  army  rushing  to 
battle.  With  what  marvelous  skill  and  celerity  they  clear 
the  sharpest  angle,  and  dash  straight  on  with  break-neck 
speed  in  their  endeavors  to  head  off  a  rival  company,  and 
now,  with  a  glow  of  exultation,  they  pause  before  the 
burning  house. 

In  rapid  succession  several  companies  arrive,  dragging 
heavy  engines,  or  scaling-ladders,  or  hose  carts,  and  in- 
stantly the  work  proceeds.  The  ground  is  covered  with  a 
net-work  of  hose,  which  but  a  moment  before  lay  coiled  up 
like  sleeping  serpents,  and  through  these  is  poured  con- 
tinuous streams  of  water  up'on  the  flames.  The  first  efforts 
of  the  firemen  were  directed  to  saving  the  stairs,  and  in  this 
way  keeping  open  a  means  of  escape  for  those  who  might 
be  inside. 

When  Mr.  Clements  and  Robert  became  aware  of  the 
danger,  they  hastened  to  awake  all  the  members  of  the 
household,  and  apprize  them  of  it.  This  done,  Robert 
returned  to  the  wounded  man,  lifted  him  in  his  arms,  with 
as  much  ease  as  he  would  have  lifted  Steve  on  an  ordinary 


294  THE   BURNING   BUILDING. 

occasion,  and  despite  liis  entreaties  and  remonstrances,  con- 
veyed him  to  a  place  of  safety.  In  the  meantime,  Mr. 
Clements,  whose  habitual  self-possession  did  not  forsake  him 
in  the  moment  of  peril,  collected  his  family  and  servants 
together,  and  impressed  on  them  the  necessity  of  following 
his  directions.  To  attempt  getting  out  by  the  front  stairs 
was  worse  than  madness,  it  was  certain  death,  for  they 
were  enveloped  in  flames  ;  but  it  happened,  fortunately, 
that  the  fire  had  not  communicated  with  the  back  stairs 
leading  to  the  garden,  and  by  that  way  lay  their  only  hope 
of  escape.  Keeping  close  to  the  ground,  that  they  might 
breathe  more  freely,  they  hastened  towards  the  door, 
some  so  bereft  of  their  senses  by  terror  that  they  knew 
not  which  way  to  turn,  and  if  left  to  themselves,  would 
inevitably  have  perished.  They  were  almost  out  of  dan- 
ger, when  Agatha  remembered,  with  a  thrill  of  horror, 
that  Lizzy  Roberts  had  delayed  the  night  before  to  finish 
some  work  for  her  mother,  and  that  in  the  confusion  and 
alarm  she  had  been  totally  forgotten.  Without  uttering 
a  word  to  any  one  of  her  intentions,  she  held  back  and 
let  all  pass  her,  then  rapidly  but  cautiously  retraced  her 
steps.  Arrived  at  the  spot  from  which  the  party  started, 
she  looked  round  in  terror,  for  smoke  encompassed  her  on 
every  side,  and  she  knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  for  to 
advance  or  retreat  seemed  equally  dangerous.  Blinded 
and  almost  suffocated,  she  hurried  forward  at  random,  and 


ERNEST   GREY.  295 

found  to  her  dismay  that  she  had  made  a  circuit,  and  was 
again  at  the  original  starting  point.  Her  brain  reeled, 
her  senses  forsook  her,  and  she  fell,  exhausted,  on  the 
ground. 

"  Any  one  down  there  ?"  shouted  a  voice  from  above, 
and  immediately  a  fireman,  so  begrimed  with  smoke  that 
his  mother  would  not  have  known  him,  dashed  down  the 
smouldering  stairs,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  With  the 
coolness  of  one  accustomed  to  such  scenes,  he  surveyed  his 
position,  then  struck  into  the  right  path,  as  if  by  instinct, 
and  paused  not  until  he  laid  his  burden  on  a  seat  in  the 
garden.  The  fresh  air  revived  her  almost  immediately, 
and  with  consciousness  returned  the  memory  of  her  danger, 
and  the  cause  that  led  to  it.  Turning  to  her  deliverer,  she 
exclaimed — 

"  Is  she  safe  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  replied,  soothingly,  thinking  that  terror 
had  affected  her  reason. 

"  Thank  God  !"  she  said,  fervently.     "  Poor  Lizzy  !" 

"  What  Lizzy  ?"  inquired  the  man,  in  accents  of  terror. 
"  Speak,  for  God's  sake  !  speak." 

"  Lizzy  Roberts." 

"  Heaven  and  earth  !"  he  exclaimed,  clenching  his  hands 
so  violently  together  that  the  blood  started  to  the  finger- 
nails. "  Where  is  she  ? — think — a  mistake  now  is  a 
murder." 


296  BESCUE   OF   LTZZY   ROBERTS. 

"  Fourth  floor,  front  room,"  answered  Agatha,  quietly 
and  promptly,  for  the  sight  of  the  man's  agony  had  aroused 
her.  "  I  need  not  say,  save  her,  but  can  I  do  anything  ?" 
she  added. 

"Tell  them  to  put  ladders  to  the  window."  And  he 
was  gone. 

Keeping  to  the  rear  as  long  as  it  was  practicable,  for  it 
was  least  injured  by  the  fire,  and  fearlessly  facing  the 
dangers  he  could  not  evade,  he  reached  the  top  of  the 
house.  With  a  feeling  of  relief  akin  to  transport,  he  saw 
a  female  figure  kneeling  by  the  window. 

"Lizzy!  Lizzy!  thank  God  I  have  found  you!"  he 
exclaimed,  passionately. 

She  knew  his  voice,  and  welcomed  him  with  a  cry  of 
gladness. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  come  here,  dear,  dear  Richard  ?" 

"To  live  or  die  with  you,"  he  crjed,  with  a  concen- 
trated vehemence  of  passion  that  disdained  all  restraint. 
"  Lizzy,  can  you  not — will  you  not  understand  that  I  love 
you  ?" 

"  Up  there,  Dick  ?"  called  the  foreman,  through  his 
trumpet. 

"Aye,"  shouted  Richard  in  reply,  appearing  at  the 
window  and  directing  them  where  to  place  the  ladder. 

When  it  became  known  that  one  of  the  firemen  had 
ventured  into  the  burning  building  to  rescue  a  woman,  the 


EENEST   GREY.  297 

excitement  outside  became  intense.  A  crowd  can  look 
calmly  on  the  destruction  of  any  edifice,  however  magnifi- 
cent— it  is  only  a  spectacle,  though  a  sublime  one,  that 
may  affect  the  imagination,  but  cannot  touch  the  heart,  for 
it  is  wanting  in  human  interest.  In  this  spirit  of  indiffer- 
ence the  multitude,  ignorant  that  any  one  was  in  danger,  had 
looked  on  the  destruction  of  Mr.  Clements'  splendid  resi- 
dence, except  when  some  instance  of  reckless  daring  on  the 
part  of  the  firemen  aroused  their  feelings,  and  made  their 
nerves  tingle  with  sympathetic  terror.  But  now  with  what 
different  feelings  they  gazed,  knowing  that  a  moment  might 
decide  the  fate  of  two  human  beings,  that  each  volume  of 
smoke  that  rolled  upwards  might  bear  with  it  their  last 
breath. 

The  fire  has  reached  the  roof,  the  spiral  flame  ascends  in 
columns,  but  with  a  swiftness  equal  to  its  own,  the  watery 
jet  enwreathes  it,  and  they  sink  together.  A  cloud  of 
smoke,  black  as  Erebus  and  thick  as  Stygian  woof,  bursts 
forth,  and  the  spectators  strain  their  eyes  in  vain  to  pierce 
it.  All  is  darkness,  but  as  it  clears  away,  Richard  Kane 
is  seen  on  the  ladder,  one  hand  holding  it  firmly,  the  other 
clasping  a  young  girl  round  the  waist.  Slowly  they  de- 
scend, very  slowly,  Richard  whispering  words  of  encourage- 
ment to  his  companion,  while  his  gaze  is  fixed  on  the  build- " 
ing,  for  well  he  knows  it  is  near  its  fall.  They  are  half- 
way down,  and  now,  with  a  terrific  crash,  the  roof  falls  in. 


298       RICHARD  KANE.  THE  FIREMAN. 

A  cry  of  horror  bursts  from  the  crowd,  for  the  walls  totter, 
and,  with  a  shudder,  they  involuntarily  close  their  eyes, 
dreading  to  look  upon  the  fearful  tragedy  they  think 
inevitable  ;  but  the  next  glance  shows  the  walls  still  stand- 
ing, the  ladder  still  in  its  resting-place,  and  Richard  and 
Lizzy  still  slowly  descending. 

The  multitude,  awed  by  the  imminence  of  their  danger, 
hardly  breathe  ;  with  fearful  interest  they  watch  their  pro- 
gress, and  with  a  sensation  of  relief  mark  each  additional 
step  that  separates  them  from  their  appalling  foe.  A 
moment  more,  and  a  spontaneous  cheer  proclaims  that 

suspense  is  at  an  end.     They  are  safe,  they  have  touched 

/ 

the  earth,  but  the  revulsion  is  too  much  for  Lizzy's  over- 
wrought feelings,  and  she  finds  relief  in  insensibility. 
Richard  raises  her  gently,  bears  his  burden  to  a  neighbor- 
ing house,  and  on  the  first  symptoms  of  returning  conscious- 
ness hastens  back  to  his  post. 

Steadily  the  men  work  their  engines  and  ply  their  hose, 
as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  if  they  had  but  commenced.  Some 
are  on  the  tottering  walls,  others  "  in  the  skeleton  window 
pits,"  whence  they  direct  a  continuous  stream  upon  the 
burning  mass  below.  Overhead,  the  deep-blue  summer 
sky  glows  like  a  furnace,  and  the  whirling  smoke  that 
wreathes  up  is  tinged  with  a  lurid  light,  while  at  intervals 
the  darting  flame  leaps  forth  like  lightning  from  a  thunder 
cloud,  but  vanishes  as  swiftly. 


ERNEST  GREY.  299 

All  hope  of  saving  the  house  has  been  long  since  aban- 
doned, and  the  firemen's  efforts  are  directed  to  confining 
the  fire  within  its  present  limits.  As  soon  as  the  crowd 
became  aware  that  this  object  was  accomplished,  they 
began  to  disperse,  and  in  a  short  time  the  firemen  and  a 
few  stragglers  alone  remained. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

RICHARD  KANE'S  LOVE — THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY — THE 
UNSET  TEA-TABLE THE  DISCOVERY. 

WHEN  the  fire  was  completely  extinguished,  Richard  Kane 
hastened  to  tell  Margaret  all  that  had  occurred,  lest  she 
might  be  alarmed  by  hearing  exaggerated  accounts  from 
others.  Though  shocked  and  horrified  at  the  danger  he 
and  Lizzy  had  passed  through,  and  the  sufferings  Mr. 
Clements'  family  had  endured,  she  lost  not  a  moment  in 
useless  complaints,  but  set  off  to  see  Lizzy,  and  make 
inquiries  concerning  Miss  Clements  and  the  different  mem- 
bers of  the  household. 

"  I  must  turn  you  out  now,  Richard,  for  I  want  to  lock 
the  door,"  she  said,  dangling  the  key  on  her  finger  ;  "  but 
come  early  in  the  evening." 

And  Richard  did  come  early,  very  early,  and  found 
Margaret  alone. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  she  said,  observing  the  uneasy 
glance  he  cast  around  the  room.  "  Lizzy  is  well,  but  she 
was  so  nervous  and  agitated  that  I  prevailed  upon  her  to 


ERNEST  GREY.  301 

lie  down  and  rest.  She  has  been  sleeping  an  hour,  and  I 
expect  will  awaken  quite  refreshed.  But  tell  me  all  about 
the  fire.  You  received  no  injury  ?" 

"  Xo,  not  a  scratch  ;"  and  he  proceeded  to  tell  her 
all  he  knew  about  the  fire,  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
supposed  to  have  originated,  the  progress  it  made 
before  it  was  discovered,  and  the  value  of  the  property 
destroyed. 

"  But  you  haven't  told  how  you  rescue'd  Miss  Clements 
and  Lizzy.  I  asked  Lizzy  herself,  but  the  very  idea  of  it 
seemed  to  revive  all  her  terrors,  so  I  dropped  the  subject. 
I  question  if  she  retains  any  clear  recollection  of  it." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Richard,  musingly. 

"  I  think  it  is  very  probable." 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  suddenly,  after  a  long  silence,  "7 
made  up  my  mind  to  speak  to  Lizzy  openly  and  plainly, 
but  this  fire  has  unsettled  all  my  plans." 

"  How  so  ?"  exclaimed  Margaret,  amazed.  "  What 
could  happen  better  for  you  ?" 

"  Then  you  think  it  would  bias  Lizzy  in  my  favor — that 
I  would  have  a  better  chance  to-day  than  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  think  it  very  likely,"  replied  Margaret,  smiling. 
"  Ask  and  see." 

"  Xo,  Margaret,"  he  said,  vehemently.  "  It's  love,  not 
gratitude,  I  want.  What  I  did  for  Lizzy,  any  member  of 
our  company  would  have  done.  I  claim  nothing  on  that 


302  BICHABD  KANE'S  LOVE. 

score  ;  I  would  have  done  it,  if  I  had  never  seen  her  face 
before — I  would  have  done  it  for  a  child — for  any  one.  It 
was  only  a  chance  that  I  was  there,  and  not  another  ;  and 
to  owe  her  love  to  a  chance " 

"  Well,  wait  until  her  enthusiasm  in  your  favor  has 
abated, — until  her  gratitude  has  cooled  down,"  said  Mar- 
garet, coolly.  "  Wait  for  a  month  or  a  year,  and  then  you 
can  speak." 

"  You  think  me  a  fool,  Margaret,  I  see." 

"  I  don't  think  any  such  thing,  Richard.  I  admire  the 
wisdom  of  your  patience  very  much." 

Richard  bit  his  lip,  his  usual  practice  when  annoyed,  and 
asked  her  what  she  meant. 

"  I'll  tell  you  frankly,"  she  replied,  "  for  I  never  could 
appreciate  the  delicacy  and  refinement  that  would  lose 
a  friend  before  it  would  condescend  to  explain.  But, 
first,  do  you — for  I  begin  to  doubt  it — do  you  really  love 
Lizzy  ?" 

"Do  I !"  he  exclaimed,  with  indignant  impetuosity — 
"  do  I  love  my  life  ?  What  a  question  !  Do  I  love  her  ? 
Yes,  better  than  I  love  it,  a  hundred  times.  She  is  the 
dearest  thing  to  me  on  earth.  I  would  live  for  her,  labor 
for  her,  die  for  her." 

"  Would  you  make  a  sacrifice  for  her  ?" 

"  No  5  that  I  couldn't  do — to  sacrifice  anything  for  her 
would  be  no  sacrifice.  Yes,  Margaret,  there  is  one  sacri- 


ERNEST  GREY.  303 

fice — I  could  sacrifice  my  love  if  it  was  disagreeable  to  her 
• — even  that  I  could  do.  To  make  her  happy  I  would 
consent  never  to  see  her  more  ;  though  to  be  happy  with- 
out her  would  be  an  impossibility.  Is  that  love  ?  If  it  is, 
then  I  love  her." 

"  Well,  if  I  loved,  I  would  try  and  ascertain  if  my  love 
was  returned." 

"And  have  I  not,  time  and  again?  But  no  matter 
what  I  said,  Lizzy  would  not  understand.  I  don't  believe," 
he  added,  with  bitterness,. "  she  can  love." 

"  Then  you  cannot  blame  her  for  what  is  simply  a  defect 
of  her  nature." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Richard,  walking  across  the  room 
with  a  firm,  rapid  step  ;  "  Nonsense  !  Margaret,  defect  or 
no  defect,  if  love  can  create  love,  I'll  make  her  love  me." 

"  Success  attend  your  laudable  endeavors  ;  but  take  my 
advice,  Richard,  and  speak  to  her  at  once." 

Appeal  to  her  while  her  feelings  are  excited  by  the 
occurrence  of  this  morning  1  Present  my  bill  for  services 
rendered,  and  demand  to  be  paid  in  love  !  No,  Margaret, 
no.  If  I  am  rejected, — well  :  if  I  am  accepted,  for 
Heaven's  sake  !  let  it  be  for  love." 

"  Well,  take  your  own  course,"  said  Margaret ;  "  but  do 
not  do  Lizzy  the  injustice  to  believe  for  one  moment  that 
she  would  barter  her  heart  for  her  life.  I  advised  you  to 
speak  to  her  at  once,  not  because  her  feelings  are  excited, 


304  RICHARD  KANE'S  LOVE. 

but  because  your  common  danger  may  have  made  her 
aware  of  the  state  of  her  own  heart.  Trust  me,  if  she 
ever  loved  you  she  found  it  out  then,  but,  as  I  said  before, 
take  your  own  course.'' 

And  here  tire  conversation  ended.  Little  did  either 
dream  that  that  conversation  was  overheard.  Yet  so  it 
was,  for  the  apartment  in  which  Lizzy  lay  opened  into 
the  sitting-room,  and  as  they  raised  their  voices  when 
excited,  or  interested,  the  entire  gist  of  it  became  known 
to  her.  When  her  waking  ear  first  caught  the  sound 
of  Richard's  voice,  the  desire  to  see  and  thank  him  im- 
pelled her  to  hurry  in,  but  the  sense  of  the  conversation 
soon  reached  her,  and  then  her  only  course  was  to  counter- 
feit sleep.  As  Richard's  heart  was  laid  open  to  her  in  its 
passion  and  waywardness,  and  as  she  became  aware  of  his 
great  love  for  her,  her  own  throbbed  with  a  feeling  of 
exulting  gladness  equally  new  and  delicious.  It  was  sweet 
to  be  so  beloved.  The  few  words  he  had  addressed  to  her 
when  death  seemed  inevitable,  and  which  she  had  brooded 
over  ever  since,  were  not  then,  as  she  feared  they  might  be, 
a  temporary  ebullition  of  feeling,  forced  from  him  by  sur- 
rounding circumstances  ;  but  the  overflowing  of  a  full 
heart,  stirred  by  violent  emotion.  As  she  listened,  the 
quiet  fervor  of  her  love  seemed  dull  and  cold  beside  the 
passionate  .ardor  of  his,  and  she  reproached  herself  for  not 
loving  him  enough.  "Why  let  him  suffer  when  one  word 


ERNEST  GREY.  305 

from  her  comd  make  him  happy.  Lizzy  rose,  determined 
to  force  an  explanation  before  he  left,  for  her  happiness 
was  incomplete  unless  he  shared  it.  She  entered,  noise- 
lessly, and  stood  for  a  moment,  stilling  the  tumult  of  her 
spirit,  before  she  advanced.  They  were  both  at  the  win- 
dow, Margaret  working,  and  Richard  gazing  down  the 
street.  Without  speaking  a  word  she  crossed  the  room, 
caught  Richard's  hands  in  her's,  and  forgetting  everything 
save  the  fearful  danger  he  had  encountered  for  her  sake, 
pressed  them  to  her  lips,  murmuring  "  Richard,  dear 
Richard." 

Richard  sprang  to  his  feet  as  if  a  bombshell  had  ex- 
ploded beside  him,  and  would  have  committed  some  act  of 
folly,  had  not  Lizzy  added — 

"  I  owe  my  life  to  you  again." 

He  muttered  some  unintelligible  reply  of  which  she 
could  only  hear  the  words — "  any  one  would  have  done 
the  same." 

"  But  no  one  else  did,  Richard,"  she  replied  earnestly  ; 
"  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  would  rather  owe  my  life  to  you 
than  any  one." 

"  Why  Lizzy  ?— tell  me  why  ?" 

"  Because — because  I — I — "  love  you  Lizzy  thought  she 
could  say  ;  but  she  overrated  her  resolution,  and  confused 
and  blushing  she  turned  away,  adding — "  because  you  are 
a  dear  friend,  Richard." 


306  RICHARD  KANE'S  LOVE. 

"  Well,"  soliloquized  Margaret,  "  if  you  don't  speak 
now,  friend  Richard,  you  shan't  have  a  chance  again  in  a 
hurry.  I  didn't  think  you  were  such  a  fool."  And  to 
turn  the  conversation,  she  inquired  if  he  had  seen  any  of 
Mr.  Clements'  family  since  the  fire. 

•'  Yes  ;  Mr.  Clements  sent  for  me  to  receive  his  daugh- 
ter's thanks  for  preserving  her,  as  she  said,  from  a  fearful 
death,  and  to  offer  me  a  situation  in  his  establishment." 

"  And  I,  for  whom  you  ran  a  greater  risk,  have  no  way 
of  showing  my  gratitude,"  said  Lizzy,  softly. 

"  If  you  had  the  will,  Lizzy,"  began  Richard,  eagerly, 
his  eyes  beaming  with  new-born  hope,  "  I  could  tell  you 
the  way  ;  but  it  would  be  asking  a  great  deal." 

"  Oh,  Richard  !  when  I  think  of  that  ladder,"  and  she 
shuddered  as  she  spoke,  "  I  feel  that  you  cannot  ask  too 
much.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  moodily  he  replied.  "  Is  not  that  thanks 
enough." 

"  Yes,  and  more  than  enough  among  friends,"  inter- 
rupted Margaret.  "  Now,  good  folks,  I  am  going  to  the 
grocers,  for  I  must  have  something  extra  nice  this  evening, 
and  I  charge  you  not  to  be  moping  while  I'm  away,  think- 
ing over  that  gloomy  subject  all  the  time.  Surely  you 
can  find  something  else  to  talk  about." 

There  is  nothing  so  hard  to  find  as  a  subject  of  dis- 
course ;  it  is  never  to  be  had  when  wanted,  and  when 


ERNEST  OBEY.  307 

people  begin  to  think  of  what  they  will  say,  they  had  bet- 
ter say  nothing.  This  is  particularly  true,  when  the  mind 
is  occupied  exclusively  with  one  subject  on  which  the 
tongue  is  forbidden  to  speak.  It  was  so  with  Richard  : 
he  could  not  talk  to  Lizzy  on  any  indifferent  subject,  and 
to  conceal  his  embarrassment,  he  lifted  the  first  book  that 
came  to  hand  and  seemed  to  read.  But  Lizzy  saw  that 
it  was  a  mere  pretence,  for  his  eyes  never  rested  on  it,  and 
as  she  marked  the  despondency  that  overspread  every 
feature,  and  remembered  that  one  word  from  her  would 
dispel  it  all,  she  involuntarily  drew  near  him. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  with  you,  Richard.  Are 
you  ill?" 

"  Xo,  Lizzy,"  he  replied,  rousing  himself  ;  "  I  am  quite 
well." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  in  tremuloas  ac- 
cents she  asked, 

"  What  have  I  done  to  you,  Richard  ?  " 

"  Done  to  me  ! "  he  replied  with  impassioned  bitterness. 
"  Nothing,  Lizzy,  nothing.  It  is  nothing  to  repel  my  love 
without  seeming  to  be  aware  of  it — nothing  to  give  the 
kindness  of  indifference  in  return  for  the  passionate  devo- 
tion of  a  true  heart,  and  you  have  mine,  Lizzy." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up  to  him  with  a  radiant 
face  and  a  smile  of  delight.  "  Then  I'll  keep  it,  Rich- 
ard." 


308  BICHAED  KANE'S  LOVE. 

"  What  ! "  he  exclaimed,  recoiling  in  amazement  too 
great  for  words. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  it,  Richard,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
dropping  her  eyes  and  blushing  to  the  temples  ;  "  for — 
for  you  have  got  mine  in  place  of  it." 

With  a  passionate  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise,  Rich- 
ard clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  again  and  again 
the  blushing  face  that  was  upturned  to  his.  Confused  and 
trembling  she  strove  to  extricate  herself  from  his  embrace, 
but  his  happiness  was  too  sudden,  too  unexpected  to  admit 
of  moderation,  and  in  place  of  releasing  her  he  folded  his 
arms  more  lovingly  "around  her,  and  clasped  her  closer  to 
his  heart. 

"  And  you  love  me,  Liz,"  he  repeated,  about  the  twen- 
tieth time,  imprinting  another  kiss  on  the  full  ripe  lips," — 
really  and  truly  love  me." 

"  Let  me  go,  Richard — Margaret  will  be  here  pres- 
ently." 

"  Say  you  love  me,  and  I  will.  I  haven't  heard  you  say 
it  once." 

"I  do." 

"  But  say  it,"  persisted  Richard — "  isn't  it  the  truth,  < 
and  don't  I  know  it,"  he  added,  with  a  provokingly  assured 
smile.     "  I  won't  let  you  go  until  you  say  it,  Liz,  no  mat- 
ter who  comes." 

"  I  love  you,  Richard,"  and  Lizzy  blushing  deeply,  sw 


ERNEST   GREY.  309 

if  it  were  her  first  confession,  disengaged  herself  from  his 
encircling  arms  and  retreated  to  the  window. 

"  Sit  beside  me,  Liz,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  will  be  guilty 
of  no  more  indiscretion.  "  Sit  here  and  tell  me  " — 

"  I  have  told  you  enough,"  interrupted  Lizzy,  smiling. 
"  You  mustn't  be  too  exacting,  Richard." 

"  Well,  sit  down  ;  I  have  got  something  to  tell  you." 

"  JS"o,  no  ;  I  must  set  the  table — what  will  Margaret 
think  ?  " 

"  Whatever  she  likes,"  replied  Richard,  placing  her 
forcibly  in  a  chair,  and  taking  a  seat  beside  her  ;  and  I 
hope  she  will  keep  away  for  some  time,  for  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  say  to  you." 

•/  •/ 

And  he  told  her  with  the  simple  eloquence  of  true 
feeling,  how  long  and  truly  he  loved  her,  how  useless  all 
his  efforts  to  conquer  this  love  had  been,  and  the  torture 
her  blind  indifference  to  his  passion  inflicted  on  him. 
'  "You  wouldn't  see  it,  Lizzy,  no  matter  how  broad  my 
hints,  no  matter  how  significant  my  manner  ;  you  would 
see  nothing  but  friendship  in  all  I  said  or  did,  and  to-day 
I  thought  for  the  first  time,  that  you  loved  somebody  else." 

"  Richard  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  tender  re- 
proach. 

"  And  but  for  the  unfortunate  circumstance  of  the  fire, 
I  would  have  spoken  frankly,  but  I  scorned  to  take  ad- 
vantage, or  to  seem  to  take  advantage  of  such  a  service, 


310  THE   UNSET   TEA-TABLE. 

and  I  determined  to  watch  myself  carefully,  not  to  drop 
a  word  that  could  be  construed  into  an  appeal — so  much 
for  man's  resolves,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  imagine 
how  it  came  about." 

"  I  can,"  said  Lizzy,  smiling  and  blushing  ;  "  because 
I  determined  on  it,  for  I  heard  all  you  said  to  Margaret, 
and,  indeed,  Richard,"  she  added,  with  simple  earnestness, 
"  when  I  was  sure  it  would  make  you  happy  to  know  I 
loved  you,  I  wished  you  to  know  it — I  tried  to  tell  you 
two  or  three  times,  but  I  couldn't." 

"  You  are  an  angel,  Lizzy,  and  I'm  a  fool — that's  all." 

"  Hush  !  Richard,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on  his 
mouth  to  enforce  silence.  "  How  loud  you  talk — Marga- 
ret is  coming  up." 

Margaret  entered,  flushed  and  tired,  for  the  basket  was 
heavy,  and  she  had  hurried  back  to  prepare  tea. 

"  It  is  quite  provoking  not  to  get  all  you  want  in  one 
store,"  she  said,  resting  the  basket  on  a  chair  preparatory 
to  unloading  it.  "I  have  been  obliged  to  go  all  round  for 
these  things.  Here  is  what  you  like,  Lizzy — cresses  ;  but 
bless  me  !  what  is  the  reason  you  haven't  set  the  table  ? 
Richard  will  think  you  don't  want  him  to  stay  for  tea." 

Richard  threw  a  sly,  laughing  glance  at  Lizzy,  and  said 
gravely — "  It  looked  very  like  it,  I  fear." 

"  You  haven't  made  yourself  very  agreeable,"  she  said 
to  him. 


ERNEST  GREY.  311 

"  I  did  my  best,  Margaret,  But  by  the  bye,  I  didn't 
tell  you,  or  Lizzy,  all  my  good  luck.  I  said  Mr.  Clements 
offered  me  a  situation  ;  but  I  didn't  add,  that  it  is  a  highly 
responsible  and  lucrative  one,  and  that  I  will  soon  be  inde- 
pendent if  I  retain  it." 

"  That's  excellent/'  said  Margaret,  warmly.  "  Ain't  it, 
Lizzy  ?  I  am  really  delighted  to  hear  it,  Richard.  Now, 
I  suppose,  you  will  realize  all  your  day  dreams  presently 
about  getting  a  house." 

"  Yes,  that  I  will,"  interrupted  Richard. 

"  And  a  wife  ?"  added  Margaret. 

"  I  have  got  one  already." 

Margaret  looked  bewildered,  Lizzy  confused,  and  Richard 
laughed  outright. 

" I  have  been  expeditious,"  he  said,  gaily  :  "I  got  one 
while  you  were  away." 

And  Lizzy  threw  her  arms  around  her  friend's  neck,  and 
murmured — "  dear  Margaret,  dear  Margaret." 

Although  neither  was  very  explicit,  Margaret  understood 
the  whole  matter  at  once,  so  quickly,  indeed,  that  it  might 
be  supposed  she  expected  it,  and  that  her  delay  was  riot 
purely  accidental.  However  that  may  be,  we  know  not, 
for  Margaret  kept  her  counsel,  and  claimed  no  credit  on 
that  score.  With  the  warmth  of  true  friendship  she  con- 
gratulated them,  and  rejoiced  in  their  happiness,  returned 
Richard's  cordial  grasp,  and  Lizzy's  loving  caress. 


312  THE   DISCOVERY. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,  Margaret,  that  I  would  have  a  home 
of  my  own  soon,  and  not  be  obliged  to  beg  a  seat  at  any- 
body's fireside  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Margaret,  provokingly,  "and  you  told 
me  something  else,  too,  only  to-day — something  about  a 
fire,  which  I  wish  Lizzy  had  heard — it  would  give  her  a 
clear  idea  of  your  inflexible  determination." 

"Joke  away,  Margaret ;  'you  find  jest  and  I'll  find  laugh, 
I  promise  you  :'  '  they  may  laugh  who  win,'  you  know." 

"  Very  true,  and  they  may  weep  who  lose  ;  and  I  have 
lost  my  only  companion." 

There  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  tremor  in  Margaret's 
voice  as  she  concluded,  and  Lizzy's  bright  eyes  were  be- 
dimmed  with  tears. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Richard  ;  "  we  had  better  settle  this 
matter  at  once,  and  not  be  fretting  about  what  will  never 
happen.  You're  not  going  to  leave  us,  Margaret.  Lizzy 
would  never  endure  it,  and  I  would  never  submit  to  it. 
Our  home  will  be  your  home." 

Lizzy  added  her  entreaties  to  his,  and  Margaret  at  length 
consented. 

"  But  when  are  these  changes  to  take  place  ?  I  suppose 
you  have  decided  upon  the  time." 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  it  is  time  enough  to  think  about  that, 
this  great  while,"  interrupted  Lizzy,  quickly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Richard,  decidedly  :  "  there  is  no  time 


ERNEST  GREY.  313 

like  the  present.  Let  me  have  my  way  hi  this,  Lizzy,  and 
you  may  have  your  own  way  in  everything  else.  In  a  week 
I  will  have  everything  ready.  Let  us  be  married  next 
week." 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  the  marriage  should  take 
place  the  week  after  next,  and  that  Richard  should  procure 
rooms,  and  have  them  fitted  up  simply  and  comfortably  for 
his  bride  ;  and  then  he  rose  to  take  leave,  with  undisguised 
reluctance. 

Though  it  was  late,  he  delayed  a  long  time  at  the  door. 
"What  he  said,  or  did,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but 
one  thing  we  do  know — this  time  his  companion  was  not 
Margaret. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

DEATH    OF     ERNEST   GREY THE     SEA-SIDE    WALK THB 

VISIT   TO    EUROPE — SCENE    IN    THE    SUMMER    HOUSE 
MRS.   HAMILTON. 

THREE  days  after  the  fire,  Ernest  Grey  expired  in  the  arms 
of  Robert  Clements,  his  mind  at  ease  about  Steve,  and 
happy  in  the  hope  of  rejoining  the  wife  he  had  so  loved  and 
lamented.  For  these  three  days  Robert  hardly  ever  left 
his  bedside,  and  during  that  time  his  mind  received  a  bias 
that  influenced  his  entire  after  life.  Richard  Kane  was 
present  at  the  solemn  hour,  for  Grey,  feeling  his  end  ap- 
proaching, had  sent  for  him,  and  entreated  him  to  see  Steve 
often,  and  transfer  to  the  son  the  friendship  he  had  felt  for 
the  father. 

Immediately  after  the  disaster  which  we  have  related  in 
a  preceding  chapter,  Mr.  Clements  removed  to  his  country- 
house,  a  picturesque  residence  commanding  a  view  of  the 
tumultuous  Atlantic.  Much  sympathy  was  expressed  for 
him  when  it  was  ascertained  that  there  was  no  insurance 
on  his  dwelling,  and  several  business  friends  proposed  to 


ERNEST   GREY.  315 

raise  a  fund  and  purchase  one,  equal  in  every  respect  to 
that  which  had  been  destroyed.  This  idea  was,  however, 
soon  abandoned,  for  Mr.  Clements  positively  refused  to 
accept  the  offer. 

"  That  very  night,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  referring  to  the 
subject,  "  a  poor  family,  residing  in  one  of  those  crowded 
localities  down  town,  was  burned  out,  and  lost  every  article 
belonging  to  them  ;  but  I  have  not  heard  of  any  sympathy 
for  them." 

"  Of  course  not,"  remarked  Mr.  Clements,  dryly.  "The 
world  is  much  the  same  now  as  it  was  in  Juvenal's  day. 
However,  it  does  not  become  me  to  find  fault  with  the 
method  of  an  intended  kindness.  Excuse  me,  Hamilton," 
he  added,  rising  ;  "I  have  business  letters  to  write  that 
admit  of  no  delay." 

This  was  just  what  Mr.  Hamilton  desired — what  he  had 
been  hoping  for  during  theiast  half  hour,  for  he  had  seen 
Miss  Clements,  her  cousin,  and  Stephen  Grey  turn  down  a 
path  that  led  to  the  sea-side,  and  he  only  waited  for  an 
opportunity  to  follow. 

"  I  shall  ramble  down  to  the  beach,"  he  replied.  "  Prob- 
ably when  I  return  you  will  be  disengaged." 

"  You  don't  intend  to  leave  us  to-night  ?" 

"  No,  I  rather  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  stepping 
out  on  the  lawn,  and  walking  rapidly  in  the  direction  the 
party  had  taken. 


316  THE   SEA-SIDE   WALK. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  day,  the  sky  from  the  zenith  to 
the  horizon  was  a  vault  of  cloudless  blue,  and  the  warm 
rays  of  the  sun  were  tempered  by  the  cool,  refreshing  sea- 
breeze.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  sea  was  studded 
with  boats,  whose  oars,  as  they  flashed  upwards  to  the 
light,  shook  off  the  spray  in  a  glittering  shower,  and  fishing- 
smacks,  whose  snowy  sails  glanced  in  the  rays  of  the  de- 

• 
clining  sun.     Sea-birds  skimmed  along  the  billows,  or  dived 

beneath  them  for  their  prey,  their  strange,  melancholy 
notes  blending  and  harmonizing  with  the  measured  stroke 
of  the  oar,  the  ripple  of  the  waves  upon  the  sandy  beach, 
and  the  sullen  dash  of  the  water  on  the  far-off  rocks. 

A  brisk  walk  brought  Mr.  Hamilton  face  to  face  with 
the  party  he  was  in  search  of,  as  they  were  returning,  laden 
with  wild  flowers  and  sea-shells. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Hamilton  !"  exclaimed  Emily,  "  who  would 
have  thought  of  meeting  you  here.  When  did  you 
come  ?" 

"  About  an  hour  ago  ;  and  as  Mr.  Clements  had  letters 
of  importance  to  write,  I  came  here  to  view  the  sunset. 
Now  I  will  retrace  my  steps,  and  accompany  you." 

"Do  not  disarrange  your  plans  for  us,  Mr.  Hamilton—- 
that is  a  stretch  of  courtesy  we  have  no  right  to  expect," 
said  Agatha,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  you  shall,"  interrupted  Emily.  "  I  insist  upon  it. 
I  dearly  love  to  disarrange  all  sorts  of  plans  ;  so  turn  your 


ERNEST   GREY.  317 

back  on  the  sun — it  is  only  a  setting  sun,  and  people  do 
that  every  day." 

They  strolled  slowly  homewards,  talking  of  sunset  and 
sunrise,  moonlight,  starlight,  "  and  every  other  kind  of 
light,"  Emily,  laughingly  asserting,  that  Fontenelle  had 
frightened  away  all  her  girlish  passions  for  moon- 
beams, and  that  she  was  always  in  terror  lest  some  lima- 
tic  fisherman  bending  earthward,  should  drop  his  line 
into  our  atmosphere  as  she  was  passing  along  and  pull 
her  up. 

"  If  you  ever  do  visit  the  moon,  Emily,"  said  Agatha, 
laughing,  "  and  are  as  highly  favored  as  the  Paladin  who 
preceded  you,  I  hope  you  will  bring  back  some  token  that 
you  remembered  me  while  in  that  mystic  receptacle  for 
things  lost  below." 

"  I  certainly  shall,  but  what  have  you  lost  ?  Let  me 
see  !  I  shall  bring  back  Robert's  gaiety,  my  wit,  your 
candor,  and  Mr.  Hamilton's  heart." 

"  You  will  not  find  it  there,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton, 
quickly  ;  "it  has  not  fled  so  far." 

"  It  has  not  ? "  interrogated  Emily.  "  Well,  it  is  too 
heavy  for  me  to  carry.  However,  if  you  have  not  lost  your 
heart,'  you  have  lost  your  gallantry,  for  you  haven't  said 
one  word  in  praise  of  country  air,  or  alluded  remotely  to 
its  beautifying  effects."  And  Emily  tossed  her  head  and 
smiled  coquettlshly. 


318  THE   SEA-SIDE   WALK. 

"  Have  I  not  ?  Then  give  me  credit  for  self  command, 
for  I  have  thought  of  little  else." 

Its  beautifying  effects  were  very  perceptible,  for  the 
cousins  never  looked  so  lovely  in  all  the  pride  of  fashion, 
as  they  did  now  in  their  simple  white  muslin  dresses.  Their 
sun-bonnets  filled  with  shells  and  mosses,  were  slung  over 
their  arms,  and  their  hair  tossed  by  the  wind  fell  about 
them  in  willowy  ringlets,  amid  which  were  entwined  the 
gay  field  flowers  and  "  hedge  row  beauties  numberless," 
they  had  gathered  on  their  way.  The  pale  peach-like 
complexion  had  deepened  into  a  brilliant  bloom,  the  step 
was  more  elastic,  and  every  beauty  looked  fresher  from 
the  contact  with  nature. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  butterfly  ! "  shouted  Steve,  run- 
ning up  in  pursuit  of  a  magnificent  specimen.  "  Do  catch 
it  for  me,  Emily." 

"  No,  no  ;  let  us  try  who  can  catch  it  first,"  said  Emily, 
and  she  gave  chase  to  the  butterfly,  closely  followed  by 
Steve. 

Here  was  .the  opportunity  Mr.  Hamilton  had  been  long 
waiting  for,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  let  it  pass  unim- 
proved. 

"  Miss  Clements,"  he  said,  reproachfully  ;  "  chance  is 
more  propitious  to  me  than  you  would  have  been.  I  have 
several  times  entreated  that  you  would  grant  me  an  inter- 
view, though  but  for  five  minutes,  and  now — you  are  dis- 


ERNEST   GREY. 

pleased  I  see,  that  I  should  avail  myself  of  this  chance, 
but,  even  at  the  risk  of  incurring  your  displeasure,  I  must 
speak.  I  have  waited  for  this  opportunity — I  have  sought 
for  it — I  cannot  let  it  pass.  Agatha,  I  love  ;  I  have  long 
loved  you,  not  With  the  fickle  passionate  love  of  youth, 
but  with  the  deeper  tenderness  of  maturer  years.  My 
love  is  not  the  growth  of  an  hour — it  is  entwined  with 
every  fibre  of  my  heart — it  is  a  part  of  my  being — it  can 
end  only  with  my  life." 

The  tone  of  manly  sincerity  that  gave  additional  value 
to  every  word,  and  the  quiet  earnestness  of  manner  that 
told  of  deep  feeling,  pleaded  powerfully  in  his  favor.  But 
her  own  heart  pleaded  more  powerfully  still.  He  did 
love  her  after  all  ;  it  was  not,  as  her  sensitive  p'ride  had 
often  whispered  to  her,  a  feeling  of  pity  for  a  love-sick 
girl,  who  could  not  conceal  her  feelings,  that  impelled 
him  to  seek  an  interview,  nor  a  sense  of  honor  towards 
one  whose  name  had  been  insultingly  coupled  with  his — 110, 
it  was  love,  love  only.  This  conviction  brougllt  with  it 
such  a  feeling  of  rapturous  pleasure,  that  instinctively  she 
dropped  her  eyes  lest  they  might  reveal  too  much.  But 
for  the  scene  in  the  ball-room  they  might  be  happy.  How 
she  wished  she  could  efface  it  altogether  ;  but  that  was 
impossible,  and  with  the  recollection  of  it  came  back  the 
torturin<r,  mortifying  doubts  to  which  it  gave  rise. 

"  Mr.  Hamilton,"  she  said  gravely,  "  you  are  laboring 


320  THE   SEA-SIDE   WALK. 

under  a  mistake,  both  in  regard  to  your  own  feelings" and 
mine.  ~  From  the  moment  we  overheard  that  cruel  slander  " 
.  —it  was  the  first  time  she  alluded  to  it,  and  her  face  glowed 
like  fire — "  I  knew  that  you  considered  this  declaration  due 
to  me,  and  knowing  this  evaded  it  as  long  as  possible.  But 
now,  while  I  frankly  acknowledge  the  generosity  of  your 
conduct,  permit  to  say,  that  in  the  present  instance  your 
generosity  is  thrown  away,  and  were  it  otherwise,  a  com- 
pulsory declaration  would  neither  flatter  my  vanity  nor 
gratify  my  feelings." 

"  A  compulsory  declaration  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hamilton, 
amazed, — "  due  to  you,  Miss  Clements  !  Is  it  possible, 
you  could  entertain  such  an  idea  for  a  moment  1  I  am 
equally  .incapable  of  the  lofty  disregard  of  self,  and  the 
contemptible  vanity  you  attribute  to  me.  You  have  alluded 
to  that  disagreeable  incident — allow  me  the  same  liberty. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  expressing  my  long  cherished  love 
when  that  occurred.  Is  it  fair,  is  it  just,  Miss  Clements, 
to  punish. me  for  what  others  said  ?  Do  I  ask  too  much, 
when  I  entreat  you  to  answer  me  as  you  would  have  done, 
if  that  had  never  occurred  ?  " 

Agatha  reddened  with  anger,  for  the  last  sentence  sound- 
ed to  her  like  assuming  that  at  that  time,  at  least,  he  had 
power  over  her  heart,  and  she  answered  proudly — 

"  Then  I  would  say,  let  the  conversation  end  here,  Mr. 
Hamilton,  in  order  that  we  may  remain  friends." 


ERNEST  GREY.  321 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  Miss  Clements,"  he  replied,  in 
the  accents  of  wounded  feeling. 

Silently  they  walked  on,  side  by  side,  Mr.  Hamilton  vow- 
ing in  his  heart  of  hearts  that,  let  it  cost  him  what  it 
would,  he  would  free  himself  from  this  enslaving  passion  ; 
and  Agatha,  bitterly  regretting  her  ungracious  answer. 
It  was  a  relief  to  both  when  Emily  and  Steve  came  running 
up,  holding  out  their  extended  hands  in  sign  of  their 
failure. 

"  What  a  race  we  have  had  after  that  butterfly,"  said 
Emily,  breathlessly  ;  "  over  hill  and  over  dale,  through 
bush  and  brake — there  lias  been  nothing  equal  to  it  since 
Sir  Joseph  Banks'  pursuit  of  the  Emperor  of  Morocco." 

"And  has  it  been  equally  unsuccessful  ? "  inquired  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

"  Yes  ;  the  parallel  is  complete  in  all  points." 

They  had  now  reached  the  avenue  leading  to  the  house, 
and  here  Mr.  Hamilton  paused,  and  begged  Miss  North 
to  tell  her  uncle,  that  he  was  unexpectedly  obliged  to 
return  to  the  city  ;  but  that  he  would  see  him  at  the  office 
to-morrow,  and  courteously  saluting  both  ladies,  he  turned 
down  the  public  road.  Before  the  conveyance  to  Xew- 
York  came  up,  however,  he  changed  his  mind,  and  walked 
to  Mrs.  Alworthy's,  a  distance  of  two  or  three  miles.  He 
did  not  stay  there  longer  than  fifteen  minutes,  and  what 
passed  might  be  inferred  from  Mrs.  Alworthy's  remarks  to 


322  GOING   TO   EUROPE. 

Miss  Clements  the  following  morning.  After  conversing 
with  her  usual  fluency  on  every  conceivable  topic,  she 
turned  to  Agatha,  and,  in  a  half  whisper,  said — 

"  So  you  have  discarded  George.  You  need  not  deny 
it,  for  he  told  me  so  himself.  You  did  very  right,  my 
dear  ;  very  few  young  girls  have  your  wisdom.  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will  do  a  great  deal  better — George  is  not  by 
any  means  so  wealthy  as  he  is  reputed  to  be." 

"  What  of  Mr.  Hamilton  ?  "  inquired  Emily,  anxiously. 
"  I  thought  I  heard  you  mention  his  name,  Mrs.  Al- 
worthy." 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  been  speaking  of  him  to  Miss  Clements. 
He  intends  going  to  Europe  next  week." 

Agatha  grew  deadly  pale,  and  her  breath  came  quick 
and  short.  "  To  Europe,"  she  repeated  unconciously. 

"  How  long  will  he  stay,"  asked  Emily,  indifferently. 

"  Two,  or  three  years,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  he  will  not  go  without  seeing  us.  I 
have  a  great  many  commissions  for  him.  I  will  never  for- 
give him  if  he  does.  Tell  him  so,  Mrs.  Alworthy." 

And  I  have  let  such  a  woman  as  that  influence  my  con- 
duct, thought  Agatha,  with  a  feeling  of  self-abasement. 
I  have  thought  more  of  what  she  would  say  than  what  he 
would  suffer,  and  I  have  had  my  reward.  Her  sneering 
tribute  to  my  superior  wisdom,  was  only  what  I  deserved. 
"  Do  better — not  so  wealthy  as  he  is  reputed  to  be."  Could 


ERNEST   GREY.  323 

she  say  worse,  if  I  had  followed  the  dictates  of  my  heart. 
But  why  throw  the  blame  on  another,  and  I  only  in  fault. 
As  I  have  sowed  so  shall  I  reap — I  must  bear  what  I  have 
brought  upon  myself. 

A  week  had  almost  passed  since  Mr.  Hamilton's  last 
visit,  and  in  two  days  more  he  would  set  sail.  He  would 
not  surely  leave  without  calling  to  see  them — a  mere  ac- 
quaintance would  not  do  it. 

"Here's  Hamilton!"  said  Robert,  throwing  open  the 
window  at  which  he  was  standing,  and  walking  out  to 
meet  him.  "  Well,  George,  when  do  you  start  ?  Hallo  ! 
where's  Agatha  ?" 

Agatha  had  retreated  from  the  room  as  soon  as  she 
became  aware  of  his  approach,  fearing  that,  at  the  last 
moment,  she  might  betray  herself.  But  the  parlor-windows 
opened  on  the  garden,  and  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  being 
seen,  she  fled  to  the  rustic  summer-house,  and  there,  free 
from  observation,  indulged  her  sorrow.  How  long  she 
was  there  she  knew  not — -judging  from  what  she  suffered, 
it  might  have  been  a  lifetime. 

"  He  must  be  gone  now,"  she  said,  heavily  sighing.  "  I 
may  return." 

"  Xo,  Miss  Clements,"  said  Hamilton,  sadly,  entering  as 
he  spoke — "  I  am  not  gone  yet.  If  I  had  known  that  I 
was  so  hateful  in  your  sight,  I  would  not  have  intruded. 
Pardon  me,  and  let  us  be  friends.  Though  I  could  not 


324  SCENE   IN   THE   SUMMER-HOUSE. 

gain  your  heart,  let  me  retain  your  friendship.  Oh, 
Agatha,  you  know  not  the  intensity  of  the  love  you 
reject.  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  of  myself : 
I  came  because  I  could  not  deny  myself  the  dangerous 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  once  agaic,  and  hearing  you 
say  '  farewell.'  Will  you  not  say  one  kind  word  at 
parting  ?" 

Agatha  turned  round,  and  Mr.  Hamilton  was  shocked 
to  see  the  change  a  few  days  had  wrought  in  her  appear- 
ance. She  was  unnaturally  pale,  her  eyes  had  lost  their 
brightness,  and  looked  heavy  with  sadness,  and  her  lips 
were  firmly  compressed,  as  if  she  feared  her  emotion  would 
force  a  passage  through  them. 

"  Agatha  1  Miss  Clements  I"  he  exclaimed,  deeply  af- 
fected, "  why  are  you  so  agitated  ?  Good  Heavens  ! 
Could  it  be  possible  that — "  he  stopped  abruptly.  Agatha 
turned  her  face  away,  red  and  burning.  "Fool  that  I 
am  !"  he  said,  with  bitter  self-contempt.  "  Miss  Clements, 
farewell  1" 

He  was  gone.  Clasping  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as  if 
to  shut  out  the  light,  Agatha  sank  upon  the  seat,  and  gave 
way  to  a  passion  of  tears.  What  would  she  not  have  given 
to  recall  him. 

"  Agatha  !  dear  Agatha  !"  whispered  a  voice  beside  her, 
as  if  answering  her  secret  thoughts. 

She  looked  up,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy.     He 


ERNEST  GREY.  325 

was  there,  gazing  into  her  face,  his  every  feature  beaming 
with  new-born  hope. 

"  Agatha,  shall  I  go  or  stay  ?" 

"  Stay,"  she  replied,  softly,  "  for  my  sake,  George." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him  by  his 
baptismal  name,  and  none  but  a  lover  could  understand 
the  value  of  such  a  trifle.  He  reddened  with  pleasure, 
and,  imprisoning  the  small,  white  hands  within  his,  he  pas- 
sionately replied — 

"Ah,  Agatha,  what  would  I  not  do  for  your  sake. 
But,"  he  added,  his  dark,  earnest  eyes  seeking  the  depths 
of  her's,  "  be  candid  with  me,  Agatha — can  you  love  me  ?" 

Her  eyes  sank  before  the  overpowering  gaze  of  his, 
and  hiding  her  burning  face  on  his  shoulder,  she  mur- 
mured— 

"  Xot  more  than  I  do  now." 

The  next  moment  she  was  clasped  in  his  passionate  em- 
brace, and  heard  his  rapturous  expressions  of  joy  and 
gratitude. 

An  hour  passed  away,  and  still  they  sat,  too  happy  in 
themselves  to  note  the  lapse  of  time.  Confidences  were 
exchanged,  and  while  Agatha  wondered  at  the  passion  she 
had  excited  in  one  so  calm,  Mr.  Hamilton  learned  with  a 
feeling  of  pride  how  long  he  had  been  beloved. 

"  Poor  Smylie  !  I  pity  him,"  he  remarked,  compassion- 
ately, in  the  first  pause  of  the  conversation. 


326  SCENE    IN   THE   SUMMER-HOUSE. 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  Agatha.  "  So  do  I,  and  pity,"  she 
added,  archly,  "  '  is  akin  to  love.' " 

"  You  cannot  alarm  me,"  he  said,  gaily.  "  You  have 
lost  your  power." 

A  heavy  step  was  heard  approaching,  and  Mr.  Clements 
exclaimed,  angrily — 

"  Nonsense,  Emily — go  without  seeing  me  ?  I  tell  you, 
George  wouldn't  do  it.  But  it  is  very  strange." 

Agatha  started  to  her  feet  when  she  heard  her  father's 
voice,  and  leaned,  blushing  and  trembling,  against  the 
window.  Mr.  Hamilton  stood  by  her  side.  Mr.  Clements 
entered,  looking  the  very  personification  of  astonishment, 
and  Emily's  laughing  eyes  twinkled  over  his  shoulder. 

You  here,  and  Agatha  !  I  have  been  searching  for 
you  this  half  hour,  and  was  beginning  to  fear  that  some 
accident  had  befallen  you." 

"  And  so  there  has,  uncle,"  said  Emily,  demurely — "  so 
serious  that  I  fear  it  will  delay  his  journey." 

"  Miss  North  is  right,"  said  Hamilton,  smiling  ;  "  and 
the  nature  of  the  accident,"  he  added,  anxious  to  spare 
Agatha,  and  allow  her  time  to  recover  from  the  con- 
fusion her  father's  unlooked-for  appearance  had  thrown 
her  into — "I  will  make  known  to  Mr.  Clements  on  our 
way  home." 

And  putting  his  arm  within  Mr.  Clements',  he  drew  him 
from  the  summer-honse.  In  a  brief  space,  however,  they 


ERNEST   GREY. 

returned,  and  Mr.  Clements,  embracing  his  daughter  affec- 
tionately, expressed  his  pride  and  pleasure  at  the  choice  she 
had  made. 

"  If  I  had  trusted  to  my  fair  ally,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton  to 
Emily,  as  they  parted  at  the  door,  "  what  would  I  have 
done  now  ?'' 

"  You  ungrateful,  material  creature  !"  replied  Emily, 
reproachfully — "it  is  results,  not  intentions,  you  look  at. 
That's  my  thanks,  after  laboring  so  zealously  in  your  ser- 
vice ;  but  I'll  be  packhorse  to  nobody  again — I  have 
learned  a  lesson." 

When  the  family  assembled  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Clements 
motioned  Mr.  Hamilton  to  a  seat  beside  her,  and  expressed 
the  pleasure  and  satisfaction  she  felt  in  welcoming  him  into 
her  family,  and  then  digressing,  she  promised  him  several 
receipts  for  sea-sickness,  which  she  had  no  doubt  he  would 
find  exceedingly  efficacious.  Mr.  Hamilton  thanked  her, 
but  declined  the  offer,  as  he  had  given  tip  all  intention  of 
visiting  Europe,  for  some  time,  at  least. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  my  boy,"  said  Robert,  coming  up 
and,  seizing  Hamilton's  hands,  he  shook  them  as  ener- 
getically as  if  he  were  determined  to  test  their  strength. 
"  But  where's  Mrs.  Hamilton  ?  Ah  !  here  she  is.  How 
d'ye  do,  Mrs.  H.  ?  "  bowing  to  Agatha.  "  What  a  start  ! 
bless  me  !  I  must  have  made  a  mistake." 

"  Come,  come,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Clements,  warningly — 


328  MRS.    HAMILTON. 

"  what  have  you  been  doing  in  the  office  to-day  ?    Who 

• 
was  there  ?     How  is  Kane  getting  along  ? " 

"  He  wasn't  there.     I  hope  he  has  not  left." 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  replied  Mr.  Clements.  "  He  will 
be  absent  for  a  few  days.  He  has  been  getting  married 
to  the  young  girl  he  saved." 

"  What  !  pretty  Lizzy  Roberts,"  exclaimed  Emily, 
with  lively  interest.  "  I  am  glad  of  it.  He  is  a  brave 
fellow,  and  quite  good-looking — you  ought  to  think  so, 
Agatha.  So  she  is  married.  Every  body  is  getting  mar- 
ried but  me.  I  am  half  tempted  to  ask  somebody.  Who 
shall  I  begin  with?" 

"  Robert,"  suggested  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  Oh  no  !  I  shall  keep  Robert  as  a  pis  aller — I  can 
have  him  at  any  time — can't  I  Robert  ?  " 

Robert  stooped  and  -whispered  something  in  her  ear, 
at  which  Emily  laughed  and  colored,  and  immediately 
changed  the  conversation. 


CHAPTER    XXXY. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  WHAT  an  eloquent  advocate  ! "  exclaimed  several  per- 
sons, as  they  issued  from  the  Court,  after  the  defendant's 
counsel  had  concluded  his  able  and  brilliant  defense. 
."  His  fortune's  made,"  said  one.     "  But  who  is  he  ?" 

"  Can't  tell,"  replied  the  person  addressed.  "  I  guess 
this  is  his  first  appearance.  He's  quite  young — don't  look 
to  be  more  than  twenty-five  at  the  utmost.  But  as  you 
say,  his  fortune's  made."  And  they  passed  on. 

The  trial  alluded  to  was  one  of  unusual  interest,  for  the 
evidence  though  strong,  was  entirely  circumstantial,  and 
the  accused  had  up  to  the  moment  of  his  arrest,  borne 
an  irreproachable  character.  Nevertheless,  when  his 
friends  saw  link  added  to  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence, 
and  heard  the  indignant  denunciations  of  the  prosecuting 
counsel,  the  most  sanguine  among  them  began  to  despair. 
It  was  evident  that  the  prisoner  shared  this  feeling,  and 
looked  upon  his  defense  as  a  form,  which  could  do  him  no 


330  CONCLUSION. 

^^^^^•r        ^ 

good  ;  but  when  his  youthful  advocate  arose  and  pro- 
ceeded to  address  the  jury,  his  countenance  underwent  a 
change,  and  brightened  with  reviving  hope.  And  well  it 
might,  for  never  was  such  a  defense  heard  within  the  walls 
of  that  Court-house,  so  eloquent,  so  profound,  so  earnest, 
so  logical.  It  seemed  as  if  the  case  had  aroused  the 
feelings  of  the  man  as  well  as  the  professional  pride  of 
the  lawyer,  for  more  than  once,  he  paused  in  the  midst 
of  an  affecting  passage  as  much  moved  as  his  hearers,  and 
then  proceeded  with  redoubled  force  to  overthrow  the 
arguments  of  the  opposing  counsel,  to  expose  the  fallacy 
of  his  reasoning  and  the  erroneousuess  of  his  conclusions. 
It  was  a  brilliant  speech,  and  yet  the  lawyer  was  never 
merged  in  the  advocate,  declamation  was  never  substituted 
for  argument,  nor  did  appeals  to  the  feelings  supercede 
dispassionate  appeals  to  the  judgment. 

It  was  eminently  successful,  and  as  the  speaker  resumed 
his  seat,  his  friends  crowded  round  him  to  offer  their  con- 
gratulations. Foremost  among  them  was  Mr.  Clements 
and  his  son,  both  twenty  years  older  than  when  we  saw 
them  last,  and  consequently  much  changed.  Both  had 
listened  with  anxious  interest  to  the  lawyers  opening  exor- 
dum,  but  as  he  proceeded,  his  cogent  reasoning,  receiving 
additional  force  from  his  clear  lucid  style,  their  interest 
deepened,  and  anxiety  gave  way  to  admiration. 

The  jury  rendered  a  verdict  of  acquittal  without  leaving 


ERXEST   GREY. 


. 


their  seats,  and  the  successful  lawyer,  disengaging  himself 
from  his  friends  hastened  homewards,  a  shade  of  sadness 
mingling  with,  and  tempering  the  elation  of  a  first  success. 
An  elderly  woman  opened  the  door  for  him,  whose  eager 
questioning  face  precluded  the  necessity  of  speaking. 

"  All's  right !  I  have  gained  the  day,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald," 
he  said,  smiling.  "  Xow  are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"Sure  I  knew  you  would  beat  them  all,"  she  replied, 
with  joyful  exultation.  "  And  why  wouldn't  you  ?  I  never 
expected  anything  else.  And  young  Mr.  Clements  told  me 
that  if  you  gained  this  case  it  would  be  the  making  of 
you." 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  will  ;  but  all  the  wealth  of  the  world 
could  not  afford  me  so  pure  a  gratification  as  the  look  of 
heartfelt  gratitude,  and  the  half-uttered  '  God  bless  you '  of 
my  poor  client's  wife.  It  reminded  me " 

"Well,  well,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  "that's  all 
past  and  gone  long  ago.  You  must  not  be  thinking  of 
these  things.  I  suppose,"  she  added  cheerfully,  anxious  to 
divert  his  thoughts  into  another  channel — "  I  suppose 
you'll  be  getting  a  fine  house  after  a  while,  and  somebody 
to  mind  it — eh,  Stephen  ?  and  then  I  may  leave." 

"  You  !"  exclaimed  Stephen  Grey,  for  the  learned  and 
brilliant  lawyer  was  the  son  of  the  convict  Ernest  ; — "  no, 
no,  not  for  all  the  world,"  he  said,  deeply  affected,  "  would 
I  part  with  one  who  was  my  friend  when  I  had  no  friend 


!32 


CONCLUSION. 


besides.  But  the  woman  I  marry  will  never  say,  nor  do, 
nor  think  anything  wrong.  She  will  be  a  model  of  per- 
fection." •  •  J 

"  Then  you  ought  to  marry  Margaret  Kane." 

"  Ought  I  ?"  said  Stephen,  with  a  half  laugh,  and  the 
suspicion  of  a  blush.  "  Well,  who  knows  ?  I  might  do 
worse." 

"  Indeed,  you  might,"  she  replied,  emphatically  ;  "  and 
then  her  father  is  so  wealthy.  He  must  be,  for  it  is  a  good 
many  years  now  since  old  Mr.  Clements  left  the  business  to 
him  and  his  son." 

"Yery  true,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,"  said  Stephen,  laughing 
heartily.  "That's  enough.  I'll  go  this  moment  to  Mr. 
Kane,  and  get  a  fortune  at  once,  without  working  for  it." 

"  Now  here's  some  one  to  prevent  you,"  she  said,  as  a 
loud  ring  at  the  door  interrupted  the  conversation. 

The  next  moment  a  man  of  middle  age  entered  the  room 
with  all  the  familiarity  of  an  old  friend,  and  seizing  Ste- 
phen's two  hands  shook  them  again  and  again,  congratu- 
lating him,  at  the  same  time,  on  his  brillia,nt  success. 

"  Clements  told  me  yon  electrified  the  Court." 

"  Why  were  yon  not  there  yourself,  Mr.  Kane  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald. 

"  Because  '  I  couldn't  possibly  get  away,"  he  replied  ; 
"  but  my  Ernest  was  there,"  he  added,  addressing  Stephen, 
"  and  he  thought  you  so  great  a  man,  so  different  from  the 


ERNEST   GREY. 


333 


Stephen  Grey  he  saw  yesterday,  that  he  would  hardly 
venture  to  speak  to  you." 

Stephen  laughed. 

"It  is  a  fact,"  said  Kane,  "and  I  laughed,  too,  when 
he  told  me.  But  I  must  be  off.  I  ran  in  merely  to  con- 
gratulate you.  Clements  says  he  wishes  you  to  see  those 
men  he  was  speaking  of,  and  try  what  can  be  done  for 
them." 

"  I  will,"  said  Stephen  ;  "  but  stay  a  little,  Mr.  Kane  ; 
I  am  going  with  you.  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Kane  and  the 
young  ladies." 

"  Well,  coine  along." 

As  they  were  leaving  the  door,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  pulled 
Stephen  back,  and  with  a  look  of  deep  significance,  bade 
him  "  God  speed."  To  this  he  replied  with  a  look  of  equal 
meaning,  and  a  shake  of  the  head,  but  what  that  denoted 
we  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  he  meant  he  did  not  intend  to 
try  his  luck,  perhaps  that  he  feared  to  try  it ;  but  if  so, 
he  must  have  conquered  his  fears  and  reconsidered  his 
intentions,  for  not  many  months  after,  there  was  a  wedding 
party  at  Richard  Kane's,  and  the  bridegroom  was  Stephen 
Grey. 

Of  Robert  Clements  we  must  say  a  few  words.  From 
the  time  of  Ernest  Grey's  death  he  devoted  himself,  with 
untiring  perseverance,  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  those 
broken  branches  of  the  social  tree,  those  lopped-off  members 


334 


CONCLUSION. 


of  the  body  politic — prisoners  and  discharged  convicts.  In 
this  he  was  ably  seconded  by  his  wife,  our  old  friend  Emily, 
whose  gay  and  laughter-loving  disposition  concealed  a  heart 
alive  to  every  noble  impulse.  Many  an  erring  fellow-crea- 
ture had  reason  to  bless  his  name  ;  many  a  reformed  crimi- 
nal, rescued  through  his  agency,  lived  to  amend  the  error 
of  his  ways,  and  to  repair  the  evil  his  example  had  done  to 
society. 

Margaret  Linwood  passed  her  life  with  Richard  and 
Lizzy,  looked  upon  by  both  as  a  beloved  member  of  the 
family,  and  idolized  by  the  children  with  a  love  scarcely 
inferior  to  that  they  felt  for  their  mother.  She  was  their 
instructress  and  confidant,  the  sharer  in  all  their  childish 
amusements,  and  the  depository  of  all  their  childish  troubles. 
She  loved  them  all,  but  her  namesake,  Margaret,  a  beauti- 
ful and  accomplished  girl,  who  united  her  mother's  gentle- 
ness with  her  father's  gaiety,  was  her  especial  favorite.  She 
shared  all  the  household  cares  with  Lizzy,  helped  to  regu- 
late the  domestic  expenditure  of  their  first  establishment, 
with  a  strict  regard  to  economy,  and  rejoiced  to  see  Richard 
become  every  year  more  prosperous  and  respected.  Happy 
in  the  happiness  of  others,  and  in  the  cultivation  of  her  own 
mind,  Margaret  Linwood's  life  passed  pleasantly  away,  and 
her  death  was  cheered  by  the  consciousness  of  duties  unos- 
tentatiously performed. 

Mr.  and   Mrs.  Hamilton  visited   the  storied  lands  of 


ERNEST   GREY.  335 

Europe,  lingered  iynid  the  ruins  haunted  by  the  spirits  of 
the  majestic  Past ;  wandered  by  the  banks  of  the  Heli- 
con, or  glided  through  the  streets  of  Venice  ;  and  then, 
their  minds  imbued  with  the  legendary  lore  and  sunset 
glories  of  the  Old  World,  returned  with  a  deeper  love  to 
their  home  in  the  New — the  Land  of  Washington,  and  the 
Cradle  of  the  Future. 


THE    END. 


•fS-jf:          '         J-A 


, 


*>•  ,f -• ,  '< 


, 


>*** 


V. 


• 


,- 


• 


"•* 


iiiiiiniiiiiiiillllllll MII 

A     000115"848 


• 


